


Shelter

by Rynfinity



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Isolation, M/M, Past Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 78,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You really need to get a life, you know,” his editor tells him over coffee, when he loses track of himself and spends far too much time gushing over the splendid house and its amazing stonework.  “Not only is it weird, it’s kind of like stalking.  Don’t think I’m going to come bail you out of jail.”</p><p>“No one stalks pools,” he tells her, laughing.  He makes a mental note never to mention it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You could join me, you know. You don't have to just stand there staring.”

Loki jumps. Actually jumps. “I- I wasn’t,” he stammers as he backs away, knowing even as he’s speaking that he’s only digging himself in that much deeper. “Sorry to bother you. Really.”

As he turns and hurries away, shoulders up around his ears and face burning, he hears the man call after him. “Hey, you don’t have to go. Come back.”

He doesn’t. He actually sprints for a short while and then drops back to walking, still moving as fast as his legs will carry him. He doesn’t turn to look, and he doesn’t hesitate. He’s fucked up enough already.

It isn’t until Loki has put a hill and a small park between them – until he reaches the outskirts of town, where farm and woodland begin to give way to the sterile orderliness of suburbia – that he stops to catch his breath. By that time he’s a sweaty mess, shirt sticking uncomfortably to back and front and his hair plastered to his cheekbones. He doubles over, hands on knees, panting.

“Awesome,” he says aloud once he can breathe again, because it’s early Tuesday afternoon and all the _normal people_ are at their desk jobs. “Way to make an ass of yourself, jerkoff.”

~

The house – a faded yellowish Italianate beauty long vacant and at least 30 years of benign neglect past its prime – had caught Loki’s eye years and years ago.

He’d taken a chance once, early on, and had let himself in through a kitchen door hanging half off its hinges. That one time had been more than enough to satisfy his curiosity with regards to the interior; the place was in surprisingly good condition, all things considered. Still, it had been left empty (or long since stripped of any personal possessions) with pretty much nothing to look at.

There’s only so much pigeon shit a person can step around before things get a little boring.

~

What had never lost its capacity to fascinate, though, was the pool.

 _It must have been quite the thing in its glory_ , Loki often thought as he strolled past it. _Pool_ didn’t really do the whole feature justice; it was a series of raceways and waterfalls and interconnected stone-walled basins stretching halfway around the house, with a large, rectangular enclosure at one end that had to have been intended for swimming.

Everything had long since been overrun with moss and underbrush. Even so, Loki couldn’t escape its pull. Once or twice he’d actually walked up the sloping yard and stood alongside the low stone border, looking down at the foot or two of brackish sludge.

Most days, though, he’d just stopped for a minute or two to ponder how it must have looked in its- its youth.

~

Unlike all his corporate-slave neighbors, Loki works – if you want to call it that, which he does - as a freelance writer. Mostly. Or not so mostly, really. He does what he wants when he wants and sells the odd article when his cupboards are bare. His editor hates him.

He’s okay with that. It’s decidedly mutual.

Loki likes the way things have worked out, all told. His schedule is his own. He can enjoy things – like the stately vacant house and its crumbling pools – at his convenience, without the nuisance of prying eyes or the heads that keep them up out of the dirt.

~

About two years ago now, things at the house had abruptly gotten a little more interesting. Someone must have bought the property, because practically overnight all the hallmarks of Major Home Repair – the scaffolding, the stacks of lumber, the tarps and shingles and shiny strips of metal – had replace the raspberry canes and weed trees that had long since overrun the side yard.

It’s yet another thing that works out nicely. Loki invariably does his walking (which he can and normally does pass off as _working_ , because moving about tends to gives him space to think) during the week, when no one is around.

The mystery home benefactor works his (or her?) slow alchemy on the weekends.

They never run across one another, which is perfect.

~

The process itself proves endlessly intriguing. Come Friday, Loki stops by and carefully studies the house in its present state. He commits every last detail to memory. Sometimes, if there’s something he really wants to savor, he even takes a few pictures with his phone.

Saturday and Sunday, he stays away. On the weekend he typically (and reluctantly) rejoins the land of the living: groceries, bills, mail, the mundane activities that, taken together, comprise the cost (and the bane) of living as a modern-day human. If life has been especially unkind, he drags himself to the mall. Or to lunch with his editor, long may she live (even if it is just to make him suffer). “You have to understand people to write about them,” she tells him. “You know that,”

She’s wrong. He knows _that_. Or maybe she isn’t, and he _does_ understand people.

It doesn’t leave much hope for the world.

He does need the money, though.

~

On Monday mornings, Loki performs his small ritual. He gets up early, relatively speaking, and pulls on something comfortable. Scarf, check. Sunglasses, check. He walks quickly and purposefully to the coffee shop a few blocks down and buys himself a big thing of black coffee to go.

It’s not until he’s out among the farms that he slows down, pausing to sip his coffee and watch the odd bird. Prolonging the suspense, making it last.

Finally, he can’t wait any longer. He comes over the top of the hill, and there it is… the house, in some special, new sort of glory.

One week it’s a new roof. Loki can’t even fathom how much work a job like that might be; all he knows is that it would have taken him weeks to even start it. And yet here it is, all of it, done in two days.

Another week it’s clapboard repairs. Then, steps and porches. Windows. Doors. A glorious array of steampunkish half-round gutters and fluted downspouts that would probably set a person back at least a year’s worth of stupid-ass people-understanding articles.

After that, for a few weeks nothing visible changes. The piles outside do still ebb and flow.

Then, paint. On Friday, the house is itself as Loki has come to know it; faded yellow peppered with white-primed new wood. On Monday, two sides of it shine like the actual sun.

The following week, it is all – well, everything he can see from the street… with this much going on, he would never take the chance of climbing up to the house again – the same glorious color. The week after that, the trim is four different carefully coordinated purples and browns.

At that point Loki figures the show is over. The scaffolding disappears. Once, on a weekday, he spots – sacrilege! – a pickup truck in the driveway. He hurries by, like he’s on his way somewhere important.

Like a date, maybe. He snorts. With what, cows?

~

Another weekend, another Monday. Suddenly the yard is full of pallets… pallets piled high with heavy-looking, fancy stone. Loki actually whistles. _Mystery person_ , it seems, is going to work on the _pool_.

~

“You really need to get a life, you know,” his editor tells him over coffee a few weeks later, when he loses track of himself and spends far too much time gushing over the splendid house and its amazing stonework. “Not only is it weird, it’s kind of like stalking. Don’t think I’m going to come bail you out of jail.”

“No one stalks pools,” he tells her, laughing. Even though (in the right light) that could be exactly what he’s been doing. He makes a mental note never to mention it again.

~

Today, he’s caught completely flat-footed. There is a _person_ in the pool. A man, as beautiful and golden as the house itself. The man scoops up a double handful of water and arches back, letting it trickle down his muscled torso and splash among the rocks, and Loki-…

-Loki is _mesmerized,_ so much so that he makes a fatal error. Rather than tearing himself away, he creeps closer – tree to tree – until he’s halfway from the roadway to the pool.

The man turns, slowly, laughing. “You could join me, you know,” he says, as Loki is far too slow to react. “You don't have to just stand there staring.”

Much as he might not want to, all Loki can think to do is run.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only it were as easy as making up his mind...

The first day is easy. He's got this, no problem.

Or, rather, the _next_ day is easy. If the remainder of _that_ day, the one where he'd made a ridiculous spectacle of himself, counts as the first day... it could be summed up with a single word: _awful_.

Loki'd spent that first afternoon pacing back and forth across his living room, on the diagonal, windows to fireplace to windows to sound system (right, it's the crappy-ass stereo he's had for decades, but _sound system_ just feels nicer). And while he’d busied himself wearing out the carpet, he’d rehashed the whole stupid shitshow again and again. So many things he could have done differently. If only he had lingered longer over coffee. If only he'd not gotten so lazy and overconfident and had paid attention to the oh-so-subtle cues (like, maybe, the truck in the driveway). If only he'd _stayed on the road's shoulder_ and not crept closer.

If only he'd kept moving.

If only he hadn't cultivated such a weird hobby to start with.

Or, perhaps even better, if only he had said something disarmingly witty and gone on about his business. That, he’d been able to get his head around. In fact, three glasses of wine into the evening, he’d found himself still easily coming up with perfect response after perfect response.

Yeah, right. Just three hours (and a few miles) and one cowardly escape too late.

~

The _next_ day, though, really is easy. It’s fine. Loki has a lot he needs to accomplish and - for the first time in ages - enough self-discipline to actually make it happen. He takes the car out this time and heads north and west (away from the scene of yesterday's self-humiliation, meaning): downtown. The dry-cleaning actually finds its way to the good dry-cleaner, the one who is also a top-notch tailor. Loki gets a new case for his phone and sets up a Genius Bar appointment to straighten out a retina display issue that's been plaguing his laptop for months now. He even gets a haircut. Something radical - a long, messy-topped undercut, a green/black ombre dye job - really hits the spot... but he ultimately doesn't go there. He (pretends) he doesn't know why.

Self-deception is easier than the truth sometimes. Honesty has only ever brought him pain.

The stylist has a lovely green-gold manicure that looks just like a double-handful of scarab beetles. The nail girl has a break between appointments, so – this time, at least - he succumbs to minimally dangerous temptation.

Outside in the sunlight his hands look amazing. That aside, Loki finds he’s still a little sorry he chickened out on the hair.

He doesn't write two words. It's just one day, though; there’s nothing to worry about. Life is-… easy. No big deal, no worries.

~

While he probably wouldn’t have thought it possible, if he’d bothered to think of it at all, Loki manages to kill the entire next morning and more grocery shopping. He's been lazy recently - cooking for one isn't particularly inspiring, to put it mildly - and had somehow let himself run out of most everything. As inadvertent diversions go it works out very, very nicely; he hits up all three major chains to do a little price beating, and then blows everything he’s saved and more at the all-organic market.

By the time he gets home, he’s worn out and starving. Going for a walk isn’t the least bit appealing.

Maybe it's a show of questionable judgment to opt for roasting squash in such warm weather, but the little green-white-orange turbans had called to him in the store. They’re still calling to him on his kitchen counter.

A little under an hour later, they’re hot and browned and tasty. They don’t last long. As he wipes his mouth on the back of one hand after the squash massacre, Loki catches sight of the clock on the cooktop. Half the afternoon is gone.

Oopsy.

When he finally sits down at his computer, he’s feeling far too self-indulgent. He simply can’t seem to make himself write. Instead, he surfs the Internet for pictures of lovely old farmhouses.

~

His own place is nothing special. Less than nothing, really.

Loki is ever the realist. As much as he loves the fading splendor of an old house, he’s all too aware of his own limitations. He’s never been the sort of person who would get his own hands dirty _making restoration happen_. He leafs through all the best magazines and drools over the pictures, sure. No amount of looking (nor drooling) will ever confer upon him the talent that sort of work requires, let alone the sheer force of will. And paying someone to do it for him would give his bank account apoplexy.

Maybe he should have found a nice lumberjack-ish sugar daddy back in the day, when he'd still had his youthful good looks and his virginity to barter.

Oh well. Too late now.

He yawns and rubs his eyes. Suburbia it is, then, and in a townhouse to boot. Which would actually be embarrassing, except that no one knows or cares where he lives anyway.

Twenty minutes, three websites, and one small pity party later, he sighs loudly at nothing and closes his laptop.

He walks west, and a little north. Which is to say, away from the golden house and its golden bather.

It’s actually nice to be up and moving.

~

By the seventh or eighth day, he’s going some freakish kind of stir-crazy. His home has never been so clean. The fridge is full of fruit; the freezer, of soups and pasta stocked away _for later_. He’s walked the length of his own suburb and half the one next to it, and found a gorgeous block of brick row houses he’d somehow never known existed.

His car is washed. All the bills are paid.

The only (maybe twenty-five) words he’s written comprise the body of a short email to his editor, one telling her he’s simply been too busy to work on the article she’d requested.

She’s been calling all afternoon. He’s too busy to answer his phone, too.

About 3:00, Loki can’t stand himself anymore. He just has to get out of the townhouse. Like, yesterday.

~

He drives away from the city this time, not quite passing _that_ house but headed in its general direction. The next road over leads way out into the countryside.

Loki almost has himself convinced that he’s _just going for a ride_ , except for how he isn’t.

On the way back from nowhere he can’t hold out any longer.

Of course the house is still golden and still glorious. The pickup isn’t there, though, and neither – as far as he can see - is the man. Somehow he truly isn’t prepared for the suffocating wave of disappointment that spawns.

~

In the following weeks Loki falls back into his former routine. Week after week he walks by the house Monday through Friday, just like he has for years. Things still change regularly: a fresh-mown lawn, annuals in big sweeping beds around the pool, a lovely old-fashioned porch swing painted to match the trim. The house still catches the sun. The little waterfalls splash and gurgle. It’s obvious someone lives there, and loves the place. Loves it too much, even.

But no one is ever _there_ , and that no longer pleases him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor likes his (house's) stalker, on principle. Sif isn't so easily convinced.

“No, actually, I _don’t_ think it’s a good idea. In fact, I think it’s pretty stupid.” Sif forks up another big bite of salad. “For all you know the guy could be an axe murderer. Seriously, Thor,” she protests when he snorts. “This guy was creeping around in your yard, and now you want to _meet_ him? You don’t know anything about him at all.”

Thor laughs again. “He’s no axe murderer,” he insists. “I got a long look at him, I told you. More than just the one time, too. The guy is way too pretty for that kind of thing. Plus-…”

“Oh, right,” she exclaims, cutting him off in mid-thought. “How could I forget? We got that memo just last week explaining how all psychopaths are ugly. _What_ was I thinking?”

“Plus,” Thor repeats, determined to get his point across, regardless, “he was shy. Shy and scared. Say what you want,” he warns when she pushes her plastic salad container away and leans back, arms folded. “He’s no axe murderer. And it’s not like I want to _marry_ the guy,” he goes on when she cocks a strong, arched eyebrow. “It’s not about that. He likes the house. I just want to say hello to him.”

Sif sighs. “So creeping around in your yard watching you swim equals liking your house how, exactly?”

She’s being dense on purpose, and he knows it (and she knows he does; this is just how they roll). Even so, he’s frustrated... enough so that he slips a little. “He’s been coming by for a while,” he admits. “Watching the renovation. I’ve seen him a few times, when I’ve taken the odd day off, I mean… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around on a weekend. Plus,” he says, thinking back to that day not long ago, the one where he’d been caught swimming, “he was gawking. When I startled him, I mean. Gawking,” he stresses. “What axe murderer gawks? Don’t you watch any television?”

At that, she finally laughs. “Fine,” she says. “You win. He’s not out to kill you, then. But I don’t like it.”

“You just haven’t seen him,” he insists. “Trust me.”

Sif shifts in her seat and pulls her salad back in for another bite. Thor waits patiently while she chews; he’s too worked up to eat just now, and he’s been skipping a lot of lunches recently anyway. “Okay,” she says once her mouth is mostly empty. “Say he’s not a nutjob. This isn’t a small city. How exactly do you plan on finding your pretty little needle in our giant haystack?”

He smirks. “The usual way: with a magnet.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s still coming by, isn’t he? Since you scared him.”

Thor looks away, more than a little sheepishly. He can feel that he’s blushing. “Maybe,” he concedes.

“Like, when did you last see him?”

“Um,” he stalls, “yesterday?”

“Good grief,” she says. “You’re hopeless.”

He’s not, though. He’s just fascinated. That, and a bit lonely.

~

“The odds are good you’ll never find him, you know,” Sif had reminded him as they’d locked up their workspaces and parted ways for the weekend. “This isn’t some tiny rural community that’s nothing but a store, two houses, and an old horse out to pasture.”

“I’m lucky,” he’d told her. “Maybe you should play the lottery.”

Thor likes a good challenge, actually. That and, deep down, he doesn’t really believe her. This _is_ a good-sized metropolitan area, sure, but his pretty observer - _stalker_ doesn’t seem fair, especially since Thor’s reasonably sure it’s the house the guy’s mooning over - _walks_ here. Daily, an awful lot of the time. Sure, the guy is slender… but the simple logistics of walking dozens of miles a day just don’t work out nicely.

No, he’s confident the man lives nearby; somewhere south and east of the city, not more than three or four miles away. Less, probably.

It doesn’t really matter anyway; Thor knows all he needs to do is sit here.

That, and of course it’s not fishing without bait.

~

Thor watches the weather forecast religiously. In what promises to be the middle of an unrelenting hot spell, he schedules a couple of days off to work in his yard. He extends a mostly tongue-in-cheek offer to Sif, too, in case she wants to come help out. To see Thor’s _dangerous man_ for herself, up close and perhaps even personal.

“Some of us have to work,” she says. “We don’t all do that sort of thing for fun, like you.”

It’s going to be a good week. He can feel it in his bones, and he’s not about to let her skepticism derail him. “Oh, no,” he teases. “Some of us simply do it in order to bask in the wondrous pleasure of your company.”

“Don’t quit your day job,” she shoots back. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I don’t think you have much of a future in poetry.”

~

He buys some more annuals. The big beds out front could use a little more color, here and there, and he’s sure that being sweaty and a little dirty is probably not a bad thing under the circumstances. If nothing else, it gives him a good excuse to climb into the pool. And Thor does love his pool, even if it weren’t for his- his visitor.

Sif still prefers “stalker.” She’s made that much clear. Thor, though doesn’t feel like that’s any way to welcome anybody.

~

About 2:00 PM – although the sun is no longer directly overhead, it’s still high in the sky and he’s sweating like crazy – all the tiny hairs on the back of Thor’s neck stand up. He’s always been acutely sensitive to being watched, to the point that his mother says he should have gone into teaching because he’s got the best set of _eyes in the back of the head_ she’s ever known. Today proves to be no exception.

He reaches for another petunia, turning just enough in the process to catch a quick glimpse of the road out of the corner of an eye.

Sure enough. There the man stands, out front by the big lilacs. This time, though, the guy doesn’t stop for long enough to gawk; he keeps moving. Lesson learned; Thor doesn’t give in to the desire to call out to him.

Thor just keeps on working – it’s easy; you simply dig a neat little hole, scoop a plant out of its plastic container, set the thing in the ground and carefully pack the dirt back in around it – and lets his visitor walk right on by.

_He’ll be back,_ he reminds himself. _All you need to be is patient._

He’s sure he can do that if he tries.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when paths cross, things get bumpy.

Patience doesn’t come all that easily. Thor finishes what he's there to do - which is plant flowers, not (just) bait the pretty man - and then coils the hose and drags the gardening tools back up to the shed. He rinses off the worst of the dirt out by the porch steps, gets some newspaper and charcoal started in the metal chimney, and then goes inside to root around for things to grill. Salmon, maybe. And fennel.

It's not like anyone is here to judge if what he's in the mood for clashes a little. Not that he thinks it will, but either way. It’s the principle of it.

He likes being alone. Except sometimes he doesn't. Tonight it’s hard not to get in his truck and go poking around, to see if he can find the guy.

While the fire gets properly going, Thor throws a bottle of pinot gris in the refrigerator and washes up some arugula. A little maple syrup, some good vinegar and olive oil, some spices – and maybe it’s good he’s alone here after all, because out of habit he picks each one by smell – and a few dabs of goat cheese; he can make the whole thing into a nice warm summer salad.

He figures he’ll eat it out on the porch, maybe, if the citronella candles are enough to keep the bugs down. He hates sleeping all covered in bug spray, but he can already tell that it's going to feel like far too much work to take a late-night shower. Especially since he's going to be working in the yard and not the office tomorrow anyway.

It’s a delicious dinner, actually, and the wine is perfect.

Thor ultimately decides a late-evening swim is a good compromise; he feels his way carefully down to sitting on the pool's rough-hewn stone edge - it's dark, he's naked – and then sinks in to back-float idly until he's cold and clean(ish) and shriveled pretty much everywhere.

Afterwards he uses the hose to take off the worst of the pool chemicals – the whole of it may look natural, and he wishes it could be, but it really is just a pool underneath all the fancy disguises.

~o~

Loki paces. All this unrest is hard on the carpet. Not that he cares; the stuff is hopelessly ugly anyway

It's bedtime, past it really, but he has nowhere to be at any given time tomorrow and he's far too wound up to even bother trying sleeping. He's not sure if he'd blown his cover again earlier - the man had paused abruptly and made as if to turn, but had gone right back to gardening without actually looking - and it's made for a long day (and night)’s worth of overthinking.

He could (should, the angel perched neatly on one shoulder with ankles demurely crossed and hands folded reminds him) just take a few days off again. It doesn’t have to be a long time, even; just a week or so. He can walk most anywhere. And if that's not doing it for him he can make himself go to the gym. During the day, it’s not like he's going to bump into anyone concerning. As long as he can put up with the _Mommy and Me_ classes, anyway.

On the other hand, he could (take the advice of the leather-clad, tattooed devil sprawled against the opposite side of his neck and) just follow his once-again-normal routine. In all this time - hundreds of walks, hundreds of days - he's seen the man home only very, very rarely. The chance of anyone being there two days in a row is consequently quite low (and while that should be reassuring, it’s actually more like disappointing).

All told, Loki likes the devil’s plan a whole lot better.

Since he can't sleep for shit anyway, he throws together a short piece of (mostly) fiction about a college kid trying to escape a tight-spun web of domestic abuse. He gives it a rough second run-through and shoots it off to his editor somewhere around 3:45 AM. It’s nothing fancy, but it has an edge to it that should quiet her down for a day or two. That, and it's the sort of little story he kind of hopes _certain people_ will see. Just- because.

~

When he wakes up, it's nearly 11:00 AM and his phone is buzzing. He's slumped half on/half off the couch, still in his clothes, with fuzzy teeth and sweat trickling down his side. Ugh. "What," he rasps after the third jab at the _Answer_ button. "Did I forget the attachment or something?"

"Are you okay," his editor asks. She sounds (touchingly or annoyingly, depending on how you look at it; today he goes with the latter) worried. "That one kind of scared me."

Loki turns away from the phone and clears his throat. "Nah," he lies. "I'm fine. Just had a little trouble sleeping. Look, thanks for checking, but I've got some stuff to do."

"Ohhhh-kay," she says a little too brightly, like she wishes she could slap him but has way too good customer service skills to say so. Which is pretty much true. "Got another afternoon of guy- I mean _house_ -stalking ahead of you?"

"I'm not paid to take your crap, you know," he snaps at her.

"No," she says, "you're paid to write. So, I think we're even."

~o~

Thor doesn't expect a visitor today. The last time the guy'd spotted him, the end result had been a month-long dry spell. He thinks (and hopes!) this time around was less- traumatic, or something, but realistically speaking he knows seeing the guy again so soon is just too much to hope for.

Consequently, he isn't prepared for the footfalls just past the lilacs to be anyone but the mail carrier. His cheery "hi!" is out before he's even fully standing, let alone had any time for his brain to catch up.

The man makes a strangled little noise and they both freeze. The guy is even prettier up close, with soft-looking dark hair and long lashes and nice eyes so brightly emerald that they don’t quite look real.

Eyes which, right this second, are wide with terror.

Thor recovers his powers of speech maybe half a second before his visitor spins away. _Shit_. "No, please, wait," Thor calls to the man's back. "I didn't mean to startle-."

The guy trips over- over his own feet, maybe, since there aren't any roots or holes to speak of out by the road, and stumbles.

"Careful," Thor exclaims (reflexively, and stupidly) as the guy goes down hard on both hands and a knee in the dirt alongside the roadway. "No, please," he begs again, "stay still. Let me take a look... please. Stay there. I'm so sorry," he adds softly, squatting down a couple of feet away from where the man is still struggling to rise. "I thought you were the mailman."

Some of the wildness leaves the guy's face; he laughs, but not like it's funny. "Awesome," he says. His voice is high and airy, and Thor frowns.

"You're hurt," he says.

"And you're brilliant."

It's nice to see his unexpected guest show a little personality. Thor smiles. Of course the man is angry. "Not today," he admits. "Hey, I'm Thor. Can we get you out of the roadway and cleaned up a little? I can bring a chair if the porch is too far for you."

"Loki." The guy starts to extend a hand and then looks his own bleeding palm with clear distaste. "So, yeah. Nothing personal, but I guess I'm not shaking."

"Nice to meet you, Loki," Thor says anyway. It is. "If I help you, do you think you can stand?"

Loki pushes Thor away, smearing a little bloody dirt on one arm. "I'm fine," he insists, and gets stiffly to his feet.

"You don’t look fine," Thor contends, still nicely, as Loki stands with all his weight in one leg. He's swaying. Both hands are bloody and one pant leg is torn. "Here,” Thor suggests, pointing to a pair of Adirondack chairs over near the pool. “Come sit in the shade."

Loki thinks. Thor can see the gears turning. Eventually, Loki gives in, or up, or something.

Thor hovers but doesn't try to steady him as he hobbles slowly up the sloping lawn. "Is here okay?"

It's fine. It's perfect. Thor says so.

~

Loki busies himself picking little stones out of one palm with the prettiest nails Thor has ever seen, while Thor takes the bigger job and carefully does the same with Loki's cut, rapidly bruising knee. 

He valiantly fights the urge to make small talk; it doesn't feel welcome.

"There," he says at last, dropping the last bloodstained little stone into the lawn. "Stay here. I'll go get some stuff to clean you up with."

Loki looks straight at him, for the first time since the two of them had started in on the gravel. "Are you a doctor or something?"

Thor laughs. "No," he says. "I played rugby. You pick up a few things."

"I bet," Loki says. He sighs and slumps back in his chair, looking utterly exhausted. "Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making the best of it...

“You should drink something. Water? Sparkling water?” Thor mentally inventories his refrigerator. “I think I still have some homemade raspberry lemonade. It’s got mint in it, though. It might be a bit of an acquired taste.” Now that Loki is all neatly bandaged and his hands have nothing to do, Thor is nervous. He knows he’s talking (more than) enough for both of them; he tends to do that.

Loki’s head lolls to one side. Thor lets his guest _look_ for a long moment; he’s amply used to the way everyone is surprised to discover he’s not a cheap-lager-and-soft-drinks guy. “Sparkling water,” Loki says, finally.

Thor uses the broad armrests to push himself up to standing. “Lime or lemon?”

There it is again, that same quick flash of surprise. Thor smiles to himself. He likes being an unfolding mystery. That, and _caught off-guard_ doesn’t look the least bit unattractive on his visitor.

“Lime,” Loki says, without nearly as much hesitation this time. “And no ice, please.”

This time Thor smiles on the outside, too. “Right. _Sparkling water_.”

“Just making sure,” Loki tells him.

~

Thor half – okay, more than half – expects his injured guest will be long gone by the time he’s back outside with their drinks. He contemplates leaving Loki’s bottle sealed, just in case, so it doesn’t go to waste… but that doesn’t feel very friendly somehow. He’s thirsty enough after yardwork in the sun anyway. Worst case, he can drink it himself while he’s sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

On a whim, he gently tips the lemonade bottom-to-top a few times to blend it and then pours a little sample into one of the little beer sampler glasses.

He can drink that too, if he has to.

From the top of the steps he can see Loki’s elbow on the armrest, still sporting a long smear of dirt and dried blood. Oh, thank goodness. Thor is pretty sure it’s a little selfish to be so relieved, especially when the main reason his guest is still here is doubtless because it’s too painful to stand. Still, he can’t help it. He’s grinning as he hooks two fingers under the rim of one of the little metal side tables that dot the patio and brings it - along with his offerings - out into the lawn.

“I hope Perrier is okay,” he says, setting the table down and (once he’s gotten it dug in enough that it’s no longer tippy, which takes a few tries one-handed) unloading his little tray onto its wrought iron top. He shows Loki the bottle. “I’m out of anything more interesting. And this is for you, too,” he adds, saluting with the little pink glass and then setting it in easy reach. “Just in case you decide you’re interested.”

Thor sets his own glass down and leans the tray against the base of the table. “I’m talking too much,” he says cheerfully. “I’m sorry. Oh! Do you want me to get that,” he adds, quickly, as Loki gamely tries to squeeze the lime wedge with a bandaged hand and winces. “I washed my hands.” He holds them up, palms out, like surrender. “See? Clean. Promise.”

A big, slow sigh. “Thanks,” Loki says, passing over the thick slice. There’s a flickering patch of sunlight on the table – it shifts with the leafy canopy overhead – that catches the green gold of his polish. “I’m not usually this helpless.”

“I can’t imagine you’re having the greatest day,” Thor says, warmly sympathetic. He squeezes the lime and raises his eyebrows.

“Sure,” Loki says. “Like you said, you washed your hands. Drop it in.” He sags back into the curve of his chair, glass a little awkwardly in hand. “Crap. I’m going to be a mess tomorrow.”

He’s a mess now, but Thor can only guess Loki wouldn’t appreciate hearing that. “Do you have to go to work tomorrow,” he asks his visitor. “Maybe you should take the day off and stay home. Because unfortunately you’re going to feel worse before you feel better.”

Loki snorts. Thor has to hide his own entirely inappropriate grin in his glass of water. “Not my first rodeo.”

“Sorry,” Thor says. “You- you keep yourself nice. That’s all.” And just like that he can feel his face warming. That wasn’t really what he’d intended to say. Not at all.

“I work from home,” Loki says neutrally enough, almost like Thor doesn’t have both feet in his own mouth up to the kneecaps. “But, yeah. I suspect I’m going to spend a few days dictating. Eh. It will keep my editor busy.”

“You write,” Thor says. He’s expecting a condescending smirk; instead, he gets another long look from his visitor. “Me, I have an office job,” he kind-of-doesn’t explain. He tries not to give away too much about _that_ until he knows people better.

“And yet here you are,” Loki points out. “In your yard.”

Now that they’re underway, the conversation doesn’t seem like it’s going _too_ badly. Still, Thor treads cautiously. “It’s nice weather,” he points out. That shouldn’t seem creepy, not compared to _I was hoping you’d stop by_. “Would be a shame to waste it. What do you write,” he asks. “What kind of thing, I mean.”

“Stuff,” Loki says. He twists a little to look at Thor and shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

That’s neither unfair nor surprising.

Thor watches as Loki sets down his water and picks up the sampler glass between thumb and two long, graceful fingers. “Ow,” Loki says, but he gets the lemonade up to his face anyway. He sniffs it and then takes a tiny sip. And then a bigger one, and then half the glass in one mouthful. “This is delicious. What, is your _office job_ running a restaurant?”

“No,” Thor says, shaking his head and laughing. “Cooking is just a hobby, I guess you could call it.”

“And what do you call fixing this place up,” Loki asks. His eyes abruptly narrow, like he’s expecting a blow. It doesn’t make sense. Thor makes note but doesn’t call him on it.

He doesn’t say _oh, I know, I’ve seen you watching me_ , either. Instead, he just smiles. “Necessary? It was kind of a hole,” he adds, “when I first started working on it.”

Loki smiles back, with his eyes this time. It’s even nicer on his face than surprise was. Thor’s screwed. Smitten. “It looks really nice now,” Loki says. “Beautiful.”

Thor takes a big chance. “You’ll have to come back for a tour, when you’re up to it.”

“You never know,” Loki says. “I might do that.”

“Oh,” Thor kind of gushes, “you should. It’s a gorgeous house, and that’s not just because I’m biased. I think you’d love it.”

~

They have another drink – lemonade for both of them, this time – and a small plate (each, because whatever he might be hoping Thor knows they’re still two strangers in an odd situation) of cheese and grapes.

Thor tries not to watch Loki’s hands with their neat white bandages as his guest pops grape after grape into his own mouth.

It isn’t easy.

~

“I should get going,” Loki says when the sun gets low in the sky. “Thanks for the hospitality. No, no, don’t get up. It’s not far.”

Thor frowns. There’s no way Loki lives _that_ nearby… there isn’t anything qualifying for civilization in almost a three mile radius. “Can’t I give you a ride somewhere? You really shouldn’t walk on that knee until you see how it’s feeling in the morning.” He’d love to invite Loki to stay for dinner but it’s probably too much, too soon; he doesn’t. “It’s no bother.”

Loki winces and squirms as he digs out his phone. “What’s the address here,” he asks. “I’ll just call my editor.”

It’s hard not to pout as he recites it, but Thor thinks he pulls it off. Close enough, hopefully.

~

He has to help Loki up out of the chair (which isn’t easy either, not without touching the sore parts of his visitor’s slender hands), but Loki is able to limp unassisted to the driveway.

Thor holds the car door for him anyway.

“I hope he wasn’t any bother,” the woman in the driver’s seat – Loki’s editor, apparently, with long, dark hair and glasses and an open smile – offers brightly. “Because he sure as hell can be.”

“Not at all,” Thor assures her. He closes the door gently once Loki gets both feet in. “Really, I enjoyed it.”

~

It isn’t until the car has disappeared over the top of the hill that Thor realizes he never gave Loki his phone number.

“He’s a smart guy,” he consoles himself aloud. “Don’t worry. He’ll think of something.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editors can be smarter than they seem.

As soon as they crest the hill and ease pass the first hedgerow, far enough along that they’re not going to be rear-ended by the nest random sightseer, his editor pulls over. “Okay,” she says. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“I tripped,” Loki says flatly. “Tried to fly, landed in some gravel. I’m pretty sure I’ll live.”

“You tripped,” she repeats, like she doesn’t believe a word of it. He glowers at her. “Okay, sure,” she says. “Whatever. Do I need to take you to urgent care or something?”

Loki shifts a little in his seat. He _hurts_ , yes, but he doesn’t want to be poked and prodded. “No,” he tells her. “We- he cleaned everything up really carefully before he put these on.” Loki waves a bandaged palm in the air. “I just want to go home.”

She sighs. “I swear, you are _so_ stubborn sometimes.”

He is. “Yes, ma’am,” he says with false politeness. She gives him a long, pointed look, sure, but she does put the car into gear and guide it back out onto the road surface. He slumps down a little farther – he’s tired, really tired – but that only makes his knee hurt.

More. Makes it hurt _more_. He groans to himself and sits up straighter.

~

“So,” she says once they’re back up to speed. “That’s the place you’ve been stalking.”

“Admiring,” Loki corrects.

“Right,” she says. “Stalking. It’s nice-looking. And the _guy_ , too. So what’s his name?”

There’s no point in fighting it; she’s going to keep at him until he gives in. She does that every single time. “Thor,” he tells her, resigned. “His name is Thor.”

“Huh. Doesn’t that make you, what, his brother or uncle or something? Adopted uncle?” She _giggles_. Loki’s head hurts. “I _knew_ I should have paid more attention.”

He tries to rub his temples but, now that he’s sat still for a while, his _pretty much everything_ is hurting. “You do realize I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about, right,” he grumbles. “I’d never met this guy before.” He reconsiders, just a little, thinking back to the time he’d seen Thor in the pool. “Seriously, I’d never even spoken to him before.” There. That’s closer to true, at least.

She throws her head back and laughs. The car weaves a little and Loki smacks one sore palm against the armrest. “Sorry,” she says as he squeaks. “It’s just- for someone who writes you are so clueless sometimes. _Mythology_ ,” she stresses when he wrinkles his nose at her. “Norse mythology. You know: Loki, Thor. That whole god thing.”

He groans. “Hah fucking hah. You got me. I’m not at my best just now. Can I go home already?”

“We’re almost there,” she promises him. “It’s not my fault you fell in love out in east buttf-.”

“I’m _not_ in love,” he grouses. “It’s a pretty house. The guy helped me when I tripped. That’s _all_.”

“Okay, sure,” she says. “Don’t get all wound up on me.” She looks over at him, eyes narrowed. “He didn’t look familiar to you, this _Thor_?”

Loki frowns. “No, except for how I saw him there a few weeks ago. Why?”

They really are almost there; she flips on her signal and turns onto his street. “Huh? Oh, right. No reason.”

~

She offers to help him up the steps to his front door, but Loki turns her down. He even stands straight and waves as she pulls away, just to prove a point. He’s not in the mood to be waited on. Well, not by her, anyway. It does hurt to walk, but he’s borne a lot worse; Loki knows he can take it.

~

Typing sucks. Using the mouse is worse. Loki pecks at the keyboard with one finger. Checking the address of the house doesn’t give him any useful owner information, or a phone number. _Stupid_ , he tells himself. _The guy invited you back for a tour. You could have swallowed your pride and asked already_.

He sighs. He’ll just have to stop by again, maybe.

~

It’s a solid week before the holes in his hands have healed. His knee had taken the brunt of it; there, a few spots are still closing. Loki does a very thorough job of keeping everything clean and sealed up, though, and even his knee seems to be healing.

~

By the following weekend, he is positively itching for- for his tour. He takes a practice walk, a slow jaunt around a couple of blocks to see how things are going. It’s better, but he decides he still doesn’t trust his knee with that kind of distance. Especially if he gets all the way out to Thor’s house and no one is around. Or, even worse, he gets there to find that Thor has _other company_.

Walking all the way out and back without a chance to sit and rest sounds like a recipe for disaster.

Not that Loki has any particular aversion to disaster, but there’s risk-taking and then there’s just plain being stupid.

He’s done plenty of both, and undoubtedly will again, but that doesn’t mean he needs Thor as his witness.

~

Saturday comes and goes. Loki tries to get back to his writing, because there’s only so long he can stall before his editor will be sending an ambulance after him. He’s too edgy to get far, though. “I’m working on it,” he tells her when she calls that evening. “It’s just not flowing for me.”

“Go see him,” she tells him. “Thor, I mean, and his pretty, pretty house. Just do it.” She laughs. “You know you want to.”

She’s not wrong. He _does_ want to.

~

Sunday, early in the afternoon, Loki tries another short walk and then opts for his car. It’s just a better solution; if he gets there and something’s off, he can beat a far hastier retreat… without hurting himself any, either. Bonus.

It even starts, despite how he hasn’t driven in nearly two weeks now. Someday he will get better at playing grownup. Really.

As he drives out to Thor’s, he’s struck by how much closer the place feels when he’s flying past the scenery. It doesn’t even seem real, which is good, because that means there isn’t time to reconsider. His iPod is barely halfway through its second song when Loki crests the hill and sees the whole beautiful, golden tableau stretched out before him.

“Hi,” he says as he pulls up along the shoulder, left wheels to curbside.

Thor straightens, slowly, wiping dirty hands on dirtier jeans. “Oh,” he says, his mouth oh-so-briefly forming a perfect red-pink circle. His whole face glows. “Loki. How nice to see you!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a cool old house...

"Did you ever come by here and walk through this place when it was empty," Thor asks as he kicks off his filthy, mud-caked sandals just inside the back door.

Without being asked (not that Thor would have asked him, either) Loki politely does the same, despite how his own shoes aren't particularly dirty. His feet are pale and long and slender; no fat, just skin and structure. Like his hands. "Yeah," he admits. He blushes, a little. Or maybe it's just the light in here, and Thor’s imagination is well on its way to crazy. Loki frowns and wrinkles his nose. "Tons and tons of bird crap."

Thor laughs. "That part was pretty gross," he agrees. "I swear the pigeons had pet pigeons, there were so many. Well," he adds, standing aside and giving Loki room to slip past him, "I hope you'll like it better now."

"Fuck," Loki breathes, softly. He looks slowly around, then whistles. "Yeah. It's a little nicer."

It is. It's a _lot_ nicer. Thor's pretty damned proud of it, really. He doesn't say that, though; he knows better. Instead he just hangs back and lets the place work its magic.

~

"Is this original?" Loki steps to the bottom of the staircase and runs a finger delicately along the banister. He traces down a straight, smooth upright, and then up one of its ornately carved, spiraling neighbors. "It's amazing."

Thor purses his lips. "I think so. It was stacked in pieces in one of the bedrooms, all neatly numbered. When I finally broke the code and got it back together, it couldn’t have fit the space better."

"And how long did that take," Loki asks, “putting it back together. You're crazy, you know," he exclaims when Thor says it'd been a couple of months, maybe three.

"Possibly." Thor smiles, shrugging. "You can't tell me it wasn't worth it."

"Well, no," Loki concedes, laughing and shaking his head. Thor likes what that does for his hair. And his face. "I can’t. Not since you did all the work _for_ me."

~

"This would have been the parlor," Thor says, pointing through the doorway to the right. "I like it better as a library, personally." It was one of the few places he'd solicited help; an old friend had crafted lovely, sculptural bookcases that looked like they'd always been here. The low, tufted velvet reading chairs had belonged to his mom. "These were in that same bedroom," he says as Loki carefully inspects one of a pair of stained glass windows. Castor and Pollux. Twins. "The way I see it, I owe somebody big-time."

"Mm." Loki almost-but-not-quite touches the lead caming. "I love them." He turns to look at Thor, eyes wide… he's not quite smiling. "So, go on. What else do you have to show me?"

~

The kitchen is an eclectic mix of really old, just plain fascinating, and well-camouflaged new. Thor likes to cook too much (and to wash dishes and lug ice blocks far, far too little) not to cave to modern technology.

Loki goes straight for the open-fronted cabinets with their rosy pink depression glass plates. "You have an eye for pretty things," Thor offers. _On top of which, you are one_ , he adds, to himself.

He could get used to the look of this guy in amongst his books and furnishings.

"Mm."

"And over here's the butler's pantry. No butler, though," he adds with a laugh. "That, they didn't leave me."

Loki smirks. "After all these years? Probably better that way."

~

They stroll through the formal dining room with its ridiculously massive chandelier and converted gaslight sconces. Thor adores this room, with its rich red walls and its oriental rug. He likes nothing better than to sit in here at dusk, toes curled into the soft wool, and simply let his mind wander.

After that his body usually wanders, straight out into the pool this time of year.

Just now, though, they have a tour to finish. It’s not the time for sitting, or for swimming. More’s the pity.

Loki is clearly taken with the local stone fireplace and its ornate period insert. He also likes ascending the staircase - "May I," he'd asked, nicely, and of course Thor had let him - despite how his knee still seems to pain him. Thor makes sure they stop at several points along the way; they look out the windows, admire a painting ("That one, my brother did"; Balder had, years ago, long before life had caught up with them), turn to catch the view out over the entryway. Even so, Loki is visibly limping by the time they reach the upstairs hall. He pretends he isn’t. Thor opts not to mention it.

~

Of everything in the house, Thor is perhaps most proud of the huge slipper tub, with its gleaming brass fixtures, and of the pale, iridescent stained glass window alongside it. "It's not easy to find a tub I can soak in," he says softly. The bathroom is a hard room, with all its plaster and tile, and he’s not fond of the way it echoes. He needs to do something to soften it up, but so far the right idea just hasn’t come to him. "Not all the way up to my chin, anyway. I’m tall,” he points out. _Stupid_.

Of course, when they’re standing this close together, Thor has to admit they’re almost of a height. Loki is just- thinner. Lighter. He looks cold, even on such a warm day. “Mm,” he hums again. “I hate it when the tub is pretty much a butt-and-feet soaker. At that point I might as well just fucking shower.”

“Exactly.” This is fun. Thor pushes down the urge to bump his guest gently, companionably on the shoulder.

The twin sinks have matching fixtures, and a backsplash of tiny green and aqua dolphins leaping across the tile. Thor’s proud of that, too. It’s a very nice bathroom, perfect for two. Even though there’s just one of him.

~

The guest bedrooms and office are all perfectly serviceable, and he’s able to interject educated-sounding examples of how the woodwork upstairs is less fancy than it is in the first floor rooms. All the while Loki listens intently.

“This is the master,” Thor says as they get to the end of the hall. He pushes the door open partway but doesn’t go in; taking a tour of _his_ bedroom, with its huge sleigh bed and its nicely-appointed en-suite (there wasn’t room here for a bath to rival the one down the hall, but it’s convenient… and the rainfall shower is nice, too), would probably push the outer limits of _creepy_.

Thor turns, taking pains not to crowd Loki against the wall. “Well,” he says, “that’s about it. Besides the scary basement and even scarier attic.”

“Wow,” Loki says. He looks down the hall, towards the top of the staircase, and then back at Thor. He looks… high, almost. Thor wants to kiss him, and doesn’t. “This is really incredible. Thank you.”

“Oh,” Thor assures him, wishing a good throat-clearing wouldn’t be so- tacky, “it was my pleasure.” He turns and leads the way downstairs.

The big clock in the library strikes 6:00 just as they get back to the foyer. “Um,” he stalls, feeling terribly clumsy and awkward, “can I make us some dinner, maybe?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer time, and the livin' is easy.

Ultimately Thor goes with something simple: a nice steak to slice and share, with grilled corn and some coarse-grained country bread he’d picked up at the nice bakery stand on his way back from the gas station this morning. A little sweet butter, even though he actually likes olive oil better – because who wants oil on his corn, besides him… it’s decidedly not normal – and a simple salad. That, and a small bucket of bottles of black IPA to wash it all down with, and they’ve got themselves the makings of a nice meal.

He lets Loki help with the salad and is pleased to see his guest knows the way around a kitchen.

They each crack a beer while they’re getting things prepped. The conversation is pretty much all about the house, but it flows easily and the place is one of Thor’s favorite topics anyway. House chit-chat is hardly a problem. The heavier stuff can wait.

~

Outside, it’s even warmer and more humid than it is indoors; the plaster walls do help with the heat, even in the midst of summer. Thor lights a ring of citronella candles in neat little metal cans, and Loki helps drag a couple of chairs and a tile-topped low table upwind of the grill. He lowers himself carefully into one of them as Thor gets the newspaper started. “Ugh,” he groans, then chases it with a swig of beer. “My knee seems to think I overdid it.”

“Sorry.” Thor half-frowns, half-pouts. “I shouldn’t have dragged you all over the place.”

“No no no,” Loki says, quickly. “It’s beautiful. I loved it. I just need to sit down for a few.”

“Which is convenient,” Thor teases, “since it’s going to be at least 30 or 40 minutes before this is ready for cooking.” He plunks down in the other chair and takes a long pull of his own beer. “How _is_ your knee? Is it healing?”

Loki grimaces. “It’s not going to be pretty,” he says. He sets his beer carefully on the table and hikes up his pant leg. “I think I’m going to tell people a bear attacked me.”

The whole thing looks a lot better – there’s no blood, for starters, and no chunks of displaced _meat_ , for lack of a better word - but, yeah, even at the edge of dusk Thor can tell it’s really going to scar. Except the long expanse of Loki’s leg (which is as defined and sinewy as the rest of him, with a surprisingly graceful swell to the calf and a nice dusting of dark hair) is so terribly distracting that no one’s ever going to notice it. “I think it will heal up fine,” he says, smiling. He wants to lean forward and run a palm up the side of Loki’s shin, to feel the warm skin and soft hair… to kiss it, maybe. Instead, he settles for another mouthful of beer. “Either way, you’re being pretty good about it.”

“Eh,” Loki says, “what’s done is done. You’d think by now I would’ve learned to be less clumsy.”

“You don’t seem particularly clumsy to me,” Thor observes.

Loki laughs. “You just don’t know me very well.”

“Maybe not,” Thor says. He can’t let it go this time. “But I’d like to.”

~

They have a bit more to drink on an empty stomach than they probably ought to. At this rate Thor’s going to have to insist that Loki spend the night (or get a cab) and, while nothing about that feels like a _bad_ thing to him, personally, the guy is an odd mix of cocky and timid and Thor doesn’t want to blow any chance he might have before they even get started.

It makes the food extra-delicious, though.

Loki holds up his (latest) bottle and peers closely at the label. “I always thought this guy was seriously hot,” he says, tipping it a little so Thor can see the muscled demon with its folded wings and curving tail. He giggles. “Not exactly someone you can take home to mommy, though.”

Thor smiles. He likes a man who likes- muscles. Men, and muscles. He especially likes it that _this_ man likes muscular guys. He hasn’t got the wings, or the tail, but he works hard to keep himself in shape; pound for pound he can give most any demon – even that one – a run for its money. “I always find myself liking my partners- lighter,” he says, nicely.

Rather than laughing, Loki squints at him. “My editor thinks I should know you,” he says, out of nowhere. He’s enunciating very precisely. “Man, I should eat something. More. Lordy.” He wipes his face with one hand. “But anyway she does. She acted like I was dumber than a rock. I’m not, you know.”

_Shit_.

Thor’s been waiting for something like this to happen, but that doesn’t make it any more pleasant. “She did look familiar,” he concedes. “Darcy something, right?”

Loki’s mouth falls open. “Fuck,” he spits. “Yeah, Lewis. Shit. Please don’t tell me you used to date her.”

“Oh, god, no,” Thor says. “Years ago, when she was still in college, she did an internship with an old friend of mine. I’m not surprised she pursued other options… even then science never really seemed like her thing.”

“The astronomer,” Loki says, nodding. “That figures. Small world. Foster. Something Foster. Joan? Jean? That’s not right. But didn’t _Ms. Foster_ used to date some ultra-rich guy? Oh, crap. Wait. Don’t tell me you- no.” He tries to back away a little and nearly succeeds in tipping his chair over. Thor has to shoot out a hand to steady it.

“Whoa there,” he tells Loki. “No, it was nothing like that. We were just friends. Well, she probably did want a relationship but that- it was never going to be something I could give her.” He shrugs. There’s no point in skipping over the important parts. “Personally, I prefer men. I’m gay, I mean,” he adds, just to make sure he’s perfectly clear. “She was a nice woman. Smart. Pretty. Interesting. She deserved to find someone who wanted her.”

“Mm. I suppose. So you _are_ a gazillionaire?” Loki hiccups. He takes another bite of steak.

“No,” Thor says. “It’s not like that. It’s just- my father has a lot of money.”

“Great,” Loki says, in a tone of voice that says it really, really isn’t. “You probably think I’m a fucking gold-digger.”

Thor leans in and sets a big hand very, very gently on Loki’s shoulder. “No, I think you’re beautiful. And fascinating. Now,” he says brightly, because (he could really do with a topic change, and) this should be _fun_ , “come on… let’s make s’mores.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damage. Control.
> 
> Remember that angst tag?

Even from the barren wasteland of his home office, which is really just a fancy label for a nice laptop computer and business-class broadband, it takes Thor next to no time at all to dig up Darcy's contact information. The publishing firm she works for is big locally; on top of that, they do a lot of work for Borson Secure. He doesn't even have to enlist the help of his administrative assistant.

Darcy picks up on the second ring. "Wait, don’t tell me; let me guess," she says when he introduces himself. "You have a Loki problem. What, is he passed out in your living room? Half in, half out of your pool?"

"No," he says, trying to keep his feelings out of his voice. "It’s nothing like that. I just need your advice about something."

"Oooh, spill," she orders. "I so love telling people where to go."

"Loki came by yesterday afternoon," he explains. "Toured the house, stayed for dinner and a few beers."

"So he passed out in your _bed_ , then?" She laughs. "It happens. He’s an awful lightweight. So sorry."

It feels unacceptably rude to tell her to shut up for a minute (even though he’d like to). That, and he really does want her help. Thor swallows down his irritation. She doesn't know anything about it, after all. "Actually," he says, "it's more like the opposite problem. Mixed signals, if you will. I- I'm wondering if- um- I guess I need an outside opinion on whether or not it's worth keeping on trying."

"Mm." He can hear the sharp tick of her tapping something - a pen, maybe - against her glasses. "Here’s my opinion: I think this calls for coffee."

~

They’d made arrangements to meet about 11:30, just early enough to beat the weekday lunch rush, so Thor is in no hurry. He uses the time to neaten up some; this is bit like a job interview. When he gets to the coffeehouse, Darcy is already perched at one of the high-tops with her phone out and two large coffees steaming beside her. Her foot swings like a metronome, back and forth. "Talk to me, Prince Charming," she says as he pulls out a free chair and takes a seat beside her. "Tell me all your dirty little secrets."

Thor forces a smile. He takes a cautious sip of the coffee she nudges towards him. It's perfect. "I'm just a regular guy," he says. "With a day job and an old house and a garden full of roses. How 'bout _you_ tell me about Loki?"

Darcy's eyes narrow in what could be mistrust, or simply speculation. "Do you like him," she asks. "Loki, I mean."

He sighs. "I do. I did? I really think so," he tells her. "And I thought it was mutual. We had dinner. Talked. Cuddled up together on the porch swing and fed one another sticky toasted marshmallows. We spent hours like that, all very pleasant. At the end of the evening, though, I couldn't convince him to let me call him a cab. And by then it was late enough that we really were mostly sober."

Thor cracks the knuckle in his thumb. This sucks. He’s sad. Sad and nervous. "So I said something along the lines of how I'd had a lovely evening. So far, so good, you know? And Loki even agreed. He _hugged_ me. But then when I casually suggested that we should do it again sometime... he announced out of nowhere that he doesn't do relationships." He shuts his eyes. When he thinks back to last night, he still feels like he’s falling. "And then he marched out the back door and jumped in his car and drove away. No goodbye, no sorry, no- no nothing. It was so weird.” He clears his throat. “I should just count my blessings and move on, shouldn't I?"

He doesn't _want_ to write it all off, though. That's why he's here. What he _does_ want is to spend half the day driving around and seeing if he can spot Loki's car anywhere. It’s probably something he would do, too, under guise of making sure his guest had gotten home all right... except he’s bound to get caught and that would be a little stalkerish.

Right.

More than a little.

When he finally opens his eyes and looks up, Darcy is studying him intently. "Are you still a nice guy," she asks. "You were such a nice guy back when I was in college."

Huh. He has no idea how to answer that one. "I think so?" Thor doesn't mean to uptalk, but there it is. "I- I mean, I try to be."

"Hm." She takes a sip of her coffee. "And you fixed up that old dump. You must be pretty patient."

At that, he can't help but laugh. "I wasn't born that way," he confesses, "but it's a virtue I've been cultivating."

Darcy nods. "Loki's- complicated. His _life_ has been complicated. He doesn't want to hurt... doesn't want to disappoint, or to be disappointed. He always says he'd rather feel nothing than suffer." She shrugs. "But I'm not sure he's gotten around to admitting to himself that feeling nothing really _is_ suffering. That, and he pretty much sucks at it anyway.”

Thor's feeling a little complicated himself right about now. "I like him," he says, still sadly. “I want to get to know him better."

Darcy sighs, heavily, like the weight of the world rests on her shoulders. "I shouldn't tell you this, because you actually _do_ still seem like a nice guy and- well, this way lies danger." She makes spooky waggly fingers and grins. Even so, his stomach flip-flops. "But our little drama queen has already called me, not once but twice, since you and I spoke earlier. Today, I mean, like _two hours ago_. Both times the entire conversation, if you can even call it that, boiled down to him bemoaning - literally, along with begnashing and besobbing - how badly he fucked things up last night.”

She rolls her eyes. “You were nothing but sweet, he was afraid, there’s no way someone like you you could possibly want someone like him, blah blah blah. On and on and on. Believe me, he’s sorry.” She makes a wry face. "Still onboard? Because if you are," she offers, sliding a face-down business card across the table, "here's his address. He loves flowers. And _don’t_ tell him I sent you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mental gymnastics, friends, and peace offerings.

When he tells her Sif laughs so long and hard that her eyes _and_ nose start running. “I’m sorry,” she pants, wiping her face with her hands. “I know it’s not funny. I shouldn’t be laughing. But, seriously? You scared off your stalker by hinting – not demanding, just hinting – that you might want to see him again? Talk about _dating fail_ , Thor, really.”

He’d just as soon not, actually. “It wasn’t a date,” he reminds her, yet again. “He stopped by to tour the house. That took a while, so we had dinner. No date, just a friendly thing.”

She sniffles. “And yet somehow that turned into him not doing relationships? Must have been some dinner. Thor,” she says, reaching across the table and taking his hand, “I really am sorry. I’m not laughing at- ugh. The situation is just so- oh, the irony.”

Thor doesn’t want irony. He wants a chance to talk to Loki again… to sit on the porch and watch the butterflies and just get to know the guy better. As friends, even. If it turns into something more – which he’s pretty confident it could, and for his part wouldn’t protest – then so be it. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Still, if it doesn’t, and they just sit around talking about houses forever, he’s pretty sure he’d be okay with that, too.

What he’s _not_ okay with is having it all yanked away from him for no clear reason.

“Hey,” Sif says, giving his fingers a little squeeze. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “I’m not upset with _you_. And you’re right… I couldn’t make this shit up. It probably _is_ funny.”

“Just not to you,” she finishes for him.

Yeah, exactly. “Probably not to Loki, either.”

“So you talked to his editor,” she prompts, because that’s about where he was in the story when her wretched inability to keep a straight face had derailed everything. “And you know her how, exactly?”

“Her firm does work for us,” Thor says, nodding. “But, yeah, Darcy. I called her. For advice.” He feels stupid talking about all of this, even to a good friend like Sif. It’s all terribly _middle school_ of him. “Plus,” he adds when she squints a little skeptically over top of her ice cream cone, “she kind of knows me from before.” He sighs. “Darcy was Jane’s friend. Jane’s student intern.”

“Ohhh,” Sif says. “Jane. Right. So poor Darcy has carved out a life for herself babysitting the emotionally stunted.”

“Sif,” Thor exclaims. “I was _not_ emotionally stunted. I just don’t- I don’t like women that way.”

“Now, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Sif teases. “Those two things are by no means mutually exclusive. But I was actually talking about Jane.”

“So what do I do,” he all but pleads. Not that he hasn’t already pretty much made up his mind, but he’s not yet so committed that there won’t be any talking him out of it.

Even so, she doesn’t try. “What was Darcy’s advice,” she asks instead.

With his free hand Thor is busily using his fork to steer his knife around the placemat. “She- she gave me his address and suggested that I bring him flowers.”

“And do you like that idea?”

“Yeah,” Thor admits. “I think so.”

Sif chews her lip. “It seems harmless enough,” she says. “Since we’ve established he’s not an axe murderer. If you’re looking for my input, well… call me crazy, but I vote that you go for it.”

~o~

It’s late afternoon. Loki feels like ass. For starters, he’s been crying all day. Not just a few delicate tears here and there, either… no, it’s been hour after hour of gut-wrenching, throat-shredding sobbing. He’s dehydrated and puffy-faced and just this side of nauseated and sore. And he can’t even hope against every last living hope that Thor might call him… because in all this mess they’d never actually exchanged numbers.

He stumbles into the bathroom to blow his nose and glowers at himself in the mirror. “You can’t even begin to know,” he tells his reflection, “how much I hate you.”

The whole day has been a waste.

He’d been up most of the night, pacing around weeping and swearing in a nearly sober panic, and then – once early morning had finally given way to actual daytime (because Darcy’s job is just that; a _job_ , not a calling or a lifestyle) – had proceeded to frantically text and call his editor so many times that she’d finally told him that he was welcome to call again _once, and only once, he’d gotten his shit more or less together_.

And by _more or less_ she’d clearly meant more.

He hasn’t eaten. He hasn’t written. His head is pounding so hard he can practically hear it echoing off the walls, and by this point there’s no way of even knowing what’s causing it.

Hangover. Tears. Bitter self-loathing. The possibilities are endless.

Since he’s in the bathroom anyway, Loki washes down four ibuprofen with a big handful of lukewarm tap water and fights the urge to gag.

~

The last thing he’s expecting to hear at suppertime is the doorbell.

His medication is finally starting to kick in, and he’s ravenous. Loki figures that, if it’s a wayward pizza delivery, he’s just going to cheerfully pay and accept it.

Another jangling ring. “Jesus,” Loki bellows. Or tries to; his voice is ridiculously scratchy and the word comes out sounding more like a bark. “I’m coming. Keep your pants on.” As he’s squawking (and the doorbell’s chiming) Loki’s splashes his face with cold water from the kitchen sink and does his best to clean himself some with paper towels.

Eh, whatever. He’ll just have to tip more. “Coming,” he rasps one last time as he hurries to get the door.

Yeah, it’s not the pizza guy. Loki can feel his jaw drop.

_Fuck_.

It’s- it’s _Thor_. 

Thor. On his doorstep. With an impromptu bouquet of red, pink, and orange zinnias in one hand and a bulging paper bag full of something that smells mouthwateringly delicious in the other. Fuck.

“Hi,” Thor says softly. “I thought you might be hungry.”

He doesn’t say _are you okay_. In return, Loki doesn’t slam the door in his face.

“Uh, hi.” Loki wipes his nose on the shoulder of his t-shirt and rakes his rat’s nest of hair back. He leans up against the wall and makes a failed sweeping gesture with one elbow. “Um. Come in?”

Thor steps into the hallway and lets the door swing closed behind him. “These are from my garden. They could use some water,” Thor says, holding out the flowers.

Loki takes them, focusing everywhere but on Thor’s face. He’s abruptly conscious of just how _bad_ he must look. “The dining room is on your right,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads back to the kitchen. “I’ll get some plates in a second.”

“I don’t have to stay if you’d rather I didn’t,” Thor says from the hall. “I brought this for you.”

Something halfway between a sob and a giggle catches in Loki’s throat and makes him cough. “No, please,” he kind of screeches when he can talk again. “Stay.” He coughs, more. “I want you to.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solving the world's problems, one plate at a time...

The dining room lights are set quite low. Even so, Thor looks around and spots a tile hot mat. The bag isn't all that hot now, not after driving into the suburbs from his place, but it's kind of damp and he doesn't want to damage Loki's table. He sets the whole business down at one end of the long wooden slab, opposite the spot where Loki must have been working earlier.

"Here, let me get that stuff out of the way," Loki says, nodding towards the open laptop and sprawling heap of papers. "I wasn't expecting company." His hands are full of plates and glasses and flatware.

"Don't put yourself out," Thor tells him. "We can just eat down here, if that's easier."

Loki sets the stack of dishes down, then the big bottle of sparkling water he'd tucked neatly under one arm. "You sure? I don't want you to think I live like a pig."

"Whatever," Thor says, smiling. "I stopped over to bring you food," he points out, "not to judge your housekeeping. I figured you might be a little hungover."

Loki almost smiles. "I've had better days," he admits. He grabs soft-looking woven placemats and napkins, out of the top drawer of an antique-looking dresser Thor'd somehow managed to walk right past with noticing, and holds them up for inspection. "These okay?"

"This food’s nothing fancy," Thor assures him. "It doesn't need a proper canvas or a big send-up." It's paper plate food, really, but it's sweet (and comforting) to find that Loki- well, that he wants to impress.

"What did you bring," Loki asks as he sets out the dishes. Thor reaches for the silverware and lays that out as well. It's fun to see someone else using actual proper place settings for an impromptu dinner; sometimes Thor feels like no one else in the universe does it. "It smells divine."

It does smell good. Thor personally thinks greasy hangover food doesn't have to be routine or tasteless. "It's falafel," he says. "With tahini and pickles and tomato wedges. And pita, of course, that my baking friend down the street made. It needs to be assembled," he goes on. "I didn't want the oil to make everything soggy. Not to mention slimy."

Loki glances up, evidently a little startled. Even now, in the muted light of the dimmed chandelier, his face has that puffy, blotchy look of someone who's been engaging in some (recent) serious crying. In light of Darcy's earlier comments, Thor finds that both sad and reassuring. "Where around here sells fresh falafel," Loki asks. "I've lived in this neighborhood for years now and I've never seen-."

"My kitchen," Thor says, a little apologetically. "But not _sells_ ; just shares."

Loki sets the glass he’s been holding down. His face crumples a little, almost like he may cry again. "You made falafel. This afternoon. For me. Because you thought I might have a hangover," he says. "Why? Why on earth would you do that?"

"I wanted to do something nice," Thor tells him. "Since I let us both get drunk and then upset you. Here," he offers, matter-of-fact. He doesn't want things to get heavy before they've even started eating. “Pass me your plate and I'll put one together for you."

He extricates a warm, toasted pita from its waxed paper pouch and carefully sets it on Loki's plate. "These are better right off the griddle," he admits, "but I wasn't sure if I'd just be dropping them off and either way I didn't want to mess up your kitchen. Tahini?"

"Please," Loki says over the sharp snick of the bottle's seal breaking. His voice is rough and Thor carefully looks only at their food. "Plenty of it, too. I love tahini."

"So do I," Thor agrees. He shakes the little plastic tub, snaps it open, and pours a generous splash of it onto the pita. Tomatoes, pickles, onion, a few chunks of freshly-crumbled feta. Last, he unrolls the foil-and-paper-towel wrapping and nestles four still-almost-hot falafel balls in amongst the vegetables. He folds the pita over top of everything and passes the plate, along with some paper towels because this stuff is way too messy for nice napkins, back across the table. "Sit," he tells Loki. "Please. Dig in. Mine will only take me a second."

Loki does, nibbling tentatively at first and then attacking his pita with considerable vigor. "This is amazing," he mumbles through a mouthful of food. "Thank you."

"Mm," Thor hums through his own sizable bite. Now that they're doing something enjoyable, though, he does want to set the record straight. He can always still take his dinner _to go_ if he has to. "Listen," he says once his mouth is mostly empty again. "I got your address from Darcy. I felt bad about the way yesterday evening ended," he goes on as Loki's eyes narrow, "and I wanted to make it right." He sets his pita down. "The offer to leave still stands," he promises. "I don't want to be here if it makes you uncomfortable."

Loki is still squinting. Even so, he takes another large bite and chews it slowly

Thor waits politely, with his hands folded loosely in his lap, but his heart is pounding. He _can_ go, and maybe he should, but that doesn't mean he wants to.

"She told me," Loki says. "Not in so many words," he amends as Thor tries to interrupt. "She's not like that. She's just a pretty poor liar and now, in retrospect, I can totally see why she was acting funny. As much as I bitch about her," he adds, shaking his head, "she really does look out for me."

"Mm," Thor hums. She does. Maybe for both of them. "So?"

"Stay, of course," Loki tells him. "Eat your dinner."

Thor picks his pita up and digs back in. They eat the rest of the meal in silence. It’s not strained, really; they’re just hungry and tired. Once he looks up to see Loki watching him; he just smiles around his food and looks back down. The rest of the time, he isn't caught as he steals quick glances at Loki's graceful hands and long neck... at the way Loki's hair looks like wavy ink in this light.

If this is the last meal they eat together, he's determined to go home with some pretty memories.

Loki wipes the remains of his pita across his plate, stuffs the whole mess in his mouth, and chases it down with a big swallow of water. "Wow," he says afterwards. "And I'm sorry. I've had- I- well, let's just say people worry me."

"No harm, no foul," Thor promises. He's okay with skittish creatures. More than okay, often. "Did this make it worse, or better?"

Loki wipes his shining lips, first with a paper towel and then more delicately with his napkin. "Better, I suppose," he says. "You seem nice even when I'm sober."

"If I'm ever not," Thor offers, "be sure and tell me."

"Oh, god." Loki throws back his head in a big laugh that shows off his throat - not to mention the bright arc of his teeth - to good advantage. "Be careful what you wish for."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headway.

After his falafel-and-flowers peace offering, Thor sorts through the various options and decides the best approach is to give Loki a few days. He has no intent of giving up, not yet; if he doesn’t hear from or see Loki in a week or so, he’ll make sure to stop by. Still, he’d rather not be the one who makes the next move… not unless he has to.

That night, when he’d gone into Loki’s kitchen to rinse his dishes and set them in the sink, Thor had left a sheet of notepaper – with his cell phone number, written neatly below the dark red _THOR_ at the top of the page – lying on the counter next to Loki’s phone charger. No “call me,” no hinting at another- dinner or date or friendly chat or whatever you want to name it. No pushing. Just 10 digits’ worth of helpful information, in the event someone might be looking for help of that nature.

They’d parted ways on a much better note that time, with smiles and a quick hug rather than yelling and- panicking, probably. Even so, Thor has no idea what he should reasonably be expecting.

Which is fine. It is.

It _is_.

Okay, yes, he finds he has to remind himself (more than once) that his little plan is a good plan and that he really does need to be patient. It’s not like the gazillion things he’s used to doing to keep himself occupied – all of them important enough, too; cooking, cleaning, gardening, swimming (or otherwise working out, on days the weather isn’t conducive to pool time), dragging himself to the office and actually working – have ceased to exist (or to matter) now that he’s taken an interest in someone. Thor has been _between things_ for years now; he’s good at cooking for himself and entertaining himself and just plain enjoying his surroundings.

He has plenty to do, and he does it.

It isn’t as easy as he’d like it to be. After Loki’s stumble, Thor had fallen right back into his regular routine without issue. Now, though, he keeps catching himself daydreaming. Worrying. Mooning after his elusive guest, when it comes right down to it.

The waiting gets exceptionally hard over the weekend – a weekend during which he doesn’t see Loki, which is _perfectly normal, as Loki never comes by on the weekend anyway_ \- so Monday evening Thor invites Sif and a couple of other friends over to play water volleyball.

They pair off. Inevitably, Sif’s team beats his. The four of them have a good time, though, and it’s a nice break from the heat. Afterwards they share a casual meal of fajitas family style on the patio. He’s so pleasantly tired once everything is cleaned up that he falls into bed without even checking his messages.

_That_ is a nice break from _endlessly hoping_.

~

Late Wednesday afternoon, as he’s finishing up the last few items on his to-do list that won’t wait until morning, Thor’s phone buzzes.

_u home_ , the screen reads.

Thor frowns at the message… which is from a local number, not in his contacts. _who’s asking_ , he types.

_oh sorry this is loki_

He can’t help his fist pump, or his “YES!” Or the way he very nearly sends his phone flying. It’s a good thing Loki isn’t actually here in the room with him.

_hi_ , Thor replies. Nice and calm, no crazy talk and no exclamation points. _still at work, lvg shortly. sup?_

_going for a walk, was thinking of stopping by_ , Loki types, and Thor fist-pumps again. He’s so mature. Fandral, who sits just outside his office and who can see him through the window, is giving him a thumbs-up and laughing.

_sure. please do._ Thor takes a deep breath and decides it’s worth the risk: _dinner?_

_mm_ , Loki sends back. _what can i bring?_

Thor suggests berries. There are several good farm stands along the way to his house, and he has half a tub of homemade vanilla custard left over from the weekend. They exchange a few quick pleasantries and agree to meet up in a little over an hour.

Suddenly everything Thor’d really needed to take care of feels a whole lot more optional.

On the way out, Fandral high-fives him. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

Thor rolls his eyes. “It’s just a friend,” he assures Fandral. “You don’t know him.”

“Is he hot?”

The look on his face must say it all, because Fandral laughs before Thor can say anything. “Ah,” Fandral says, still laughing. “Then I want to.”

“Nice try,” Thor tells his coworker. It’s SO not happening. “Have a good one.”

“You too,” Fandral says. He stands to cuff Thor on the shoulder. “You, too.”

~

Thor hurries like crazy and manages to get himself home before Loki arrives. He quickly changes into something more casual – Loki’s out for a walk, after all, and the day has been a hot one; his dinner guest isn’t likely to show up neat and pristine and dressed for a Big Occasion – and then gets the charcoal going. It’s not really taking a gamble; (not that he thinks Loki won’t show up but, if that happens) he was planning on grilling for himself anyway.

And then he sits down to wait, impatient and fidgety, with his feet in the pool.

~

“Hi,” Loki says as he comes around the corner of the house. “I would have gone to the door but I could see your smoke from the driveway.”

Thor pushes himself to standing. He smiles. “Good to see you. And I’m not all that formal. Here, can I take those for you,” he asks as Loki stands awkwardly holding a pint basket that’s full to overflowing with plump, ripe blackberries. “It’s going to be a while before we can eat; I just started the fire a few minutes ago.” As per usual, when Loki is slow to start talking Thor finds he can’t keep himself from babbling. “Are scallops okay?”

Loki _beams_ (and Thor is abruptly, ridiculously delighted). “Scallops are wonderful,” Loki says. He shakes his head. “Do you always eat like a king?”

“No,” Thor insists, quickly. “Um, maybe? I figure just because I’m alone here, that doesn’t mean I should let myself subsist on ramen.” He takes the berries Loki passes off. “Can I get you some wine? One bottle and one bottle only this time,” he promises. “After all, it’s a school night.”

~

As the evening wears on they talk more and more easily. Loki even comes over and stands by the grill to keep Thor company while the scallops sear (which, yes, isn’t even three minutes… it feels like a good sign just the same), still chatting happily.

They eat their dinner, plates in hand, sitting side by side on the pool’s edge.

Between dinner and desert, Loki rests his head on Thor’s shoulder. He doesn’t pull away when Thor nuzzles his (still slightly damp from the walk over, soft and sweetly curly) hair, either. If anything, despite the muggy heat, he cuddles a little closer.

Best of all, as Loki is heading home – Thor does nicely offer him a ride, of course, but Loki assures Thor he both wants and needs to get the rest of his walk in – he leans into Thor for a moment and then steals a quick kiss.

And not the _just friendly_ kind.

It’s over before Thor can properly react. Not that he doesn’t try. Loki’s lips are soft and warm; they taste of wine and berries, and Thor thinks he could kiss them forever.

It’s probably fortunate, Thor reassures himself as he watches Loki walk backwards down the driveway shyly waving, that his visitor had already been in the process of leaving.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reflection... but it's a shallow pool.

His phone blasts him out of a sound sleep. Loki briefly contemplates calling down all the pestilence in the universe upon whoever might have the nerve... but his clock does say 2:12 PM and it's Darcy and somehow he's not hating her quite as much as he’s pretty sure he used to.

Loki pokes clumsily at his phone. "Ngh?"

"Don't tell me you were still sleeping," Darcy huffs, even though he knows she knows that’s exactly what he was doing. "What, did you end up having to take an Ambien or three over something?"

He rubs his eyes, and then his whole face. Ugh. "No," he tells her. "I just stayed up too late. I was thinking," he adds into the mental vacuum that’s created when she simply says nothing.

"You're always thinking," she reminds him, which is true. He hums.

"Was it good thinking," she prompts, "or bad thinking?"

He smiles a little. Just a little, though; his head hurts. "Good, probably,” he half-tells, half-asks her. “Mostly?"

Darcy makes a small, pleased-sounding noise. "So,” she says, and he can hear that she’s smiling, “things got better after I talked to you last week?"

He smiles again, despite his head. "Things got better after you talked to _Thor_."

After the briefest hesitation, she laughs. "He called?"

"Better," Loki says, smugly. "He stopped by. With flowers and awesome homemade dinner."

"And then you slammed the door in his face, tool that you are," she kids, but her snicker at the end gives her away. "Sorry," she says when he laughs with - and _at_ , tool that he is - her. "I couldn't quite pull that off."

"You're losing your touch," he tells her. "And, no, you would have been proud of me. Despite how utterly gross I look after a day of bawling, I invited him in and we had a nice dinner."

"It _must_ have been," she kids, "if you're still mooning over it half a week later."

" _Fine_ ," he mock-snaps. "If you wanted to know, you only needed to _ask_ me." He sighs, very loudly. "Fine," he says again. It feels good to tell someone anyway. "I stopped over to his place last night and we had dinner again... and then when it was time to leave I- I kissed him."

“ _Now_ we’re getting somewhere,” Darcy says. “Finally.”

“Oh,” Loki breathes, his headache well on the way to forgotten. “I hope so.”

~

When they end their phone conversation – and for once he hasn’t been given some sort of distasteful assignment in exchange for what Darcy likes to call _putting up with his charming demeanor_ \- Loki sits up and slides out of bed. Now that he’s awake, he’s embarrassingly giddy. All he wants to do is prance around the house and touch his own lips with quivering fingers and remind himself over and over that he’s _kissed Thor_ … who, quite frankly, hadn’t seemed the least bit put off. Or disappointed.

Not that he’d stuck around for any fallout, true, but before he’d turned to walk back out to the road Loki’d seen how Thor was grinning ear to ear.

~

He gives the feeling until mid-afternoon to wear off, or to be replaced with the sort of paralyzing self-doubt that normally costs him all the best opportunities.

Neither of which happens.

~

Loki works a bit on a longer piece, something he’s been chipping away at for a while now. By 5:00 PM he hasn’t distinguished himself, exactly, but he’s made decent headway just the same. It’s good enough progress to warrant an email to Darcy, who has been nudging him increasingly hard about this one for months now, and he sends his update on its way a little proudly.

 _Good job_ , she replies. _Go kiss Thor again, maybe?_

He laughs and laughs, but she’s not wrong and in the end he texts Thor anyway.

 _was just thinking of u_ , Thor replies. The text is followed in quick succession by _who’m i kidding? not like i’ve thought of a single other thing all day_.

 _sure_ , Loki ends up telling Thor once the invitation’s been extended. _i’d love to stop over for dessert_. He’s not 100% sure he knows what he’s just agreed to, but if it means time with Thor he’s fine with it regardless.

~

Without the smoke from the grill to guide him, Loki isn’t sure if he should go to the front door or the back. As he’s standing in the driveway next to his car panicking a little, though, the problem takes care of itself; Thor comes around the corner of the house, with his hands crammed in his pockets and his face sporting a shy little smile that would have been perfectly at home on a grade-schooler.

“I’m so glad you texted,” Thor tells him. “I was missing you so badly, but I didn’t want to- to make you uncomfortable.”

It’s awkward, yes, but in a good way. Loki smiles, equally shyly. “I’m not sure I could have stayed away, really.”

Thor grins anew, one of his huge, sunny ones this time. “Perfect,” he says. He closes the last few steps between them and wraps Loki in a big, enthusiastic hug. “Mm,” he hums. “Sorry, but I’m really glad to see you.”

Loki doesn’t do the best job of hugging back – all else aside, he can’t, because Thor has his arms pinned at his sides – but he snuggles close and purrs and hopes it’s enough. “Mm,” he says into Thor’s big shoulder. “Yeah. I’m glad to see you, too.”

~

They sit by the pool and fail miserable at taking turns feeding one another bite-sized pieces of fruit. Pineapple. Grapes. Slices of faintly tart, crisp apple.

Thor melts chocolate in a tiny double boiler that balances daintily over what he cheerfully explains is a propane camp stove. “I don’t camp, really,” he tells Loki, “but this is a lot more romantic than slaving away at the big grill… don’t you think?”

Loki does. He really, really does.

The apple slices, especially, are fabulous dipped in chocolate. So are Thor’s lips, and Thor’s tongue. The chocolaty, fruity mess is a little sticky in their hair and on their faces and fingers… and it’s more than a little sticky when Thor trails his chocolate-covered lips up and down Loki’s neck and stops to mouth the sharp angle of his jaw.

None of which is a problem, of course; it all feels far, far too good and Loki finds himself (all too quickly) well past caring.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life can be pretty complicated. Good, mostly, but complicated.
> 
> Nothing new here, but remember the warnings.

Thor flops carefully – if there is such a thing, even; mostly, he’s trying to keep the worst of the chocolate off the comforter – on his bed and stares at the ceiling. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. His eyes are open, sure, and the ceiling is up there where it always is. Truthfully, he’s not actually looking at anything.

He should have taken a shower before bed. Mess aside, failing to do so just means he’s going to really have to rush to get ready in the morning. That, and he’ll be stuck going to work with his hair in a wet little man-bun that practically screams _walk of shame_. Yes, he’s actually lying here in his own bedroom, alone, at a perfectly reasonable hour. No, none of his coworkers will believe it, not when he shows up that way.

Whatever it’s doing to tomorrow morning is so, so worth it, though. Thor just spent a glorious two hours making out with Loki (and with a cup or two of really _quality chocolate_ ) and he doesn’t want to wash off a so much as one single trace.

He can taste chocolate-covered Loki on his tongue and smell Loki (and chocolate) on his own clothes and skin. It’s heaven.

They’d started out feeding one another, simply and innocently, but by halfway through the evening Thor’d had his tongue in Loki’s mouth and a hand inside the waistband of Loki’s loose, summer-weight pants.

No… there’s nothing about it, from the drag of Loki’s teeth along his lower lip to the coarse curls and taut-skinned stomach against his fingers, that he couldn’t lie here and joyfully remember for all of eternity.

Perhaps best of all, they’d stopped (since it was getting late, and) when they’d both agreed they didn’t want to rush things, not because Loki’d gotten cold feet again and run off into the darkness.

By comparison, a little stickiness in the bed? It’s nothing.

~

Morning comes too soon. Thor checks himself out in the bathroom mirror and quickly decides there’s no helping it: he _has_ to shower. He has a huge smear of chocolate along one cheekbone and stiffened streaks of the stuff painted into his hair.

The- well, it’s a _hickey_ , no matter how he tries to reframe it, high up underneath his jaw poses an even greater challenge; wash as he might, it’s going nowhere.

Still, worth it.

~

“You look happy today,” Sif tells him as they stand by the fax copier, waiting for their printouts together. The network is unusually slow this morning; nothing’s coming out in a hurry.

Thor smiles. “I am,” he said. “Loki stopped over last night. For dessert,” he clarifies. From the look on her face, saying that only makes it more incriminating somehow. “We had chocolate-dipped fruit.”

“Kinky,” she says, smiling right back at him. “So things are better?”

He thinks. “Right now,” he tells her. “I’m not sure everything is resolved,” (and he isn’t… he’s not sure what _everything_ even _is_ , for that matter) “but things sure were good yesterday evening. Really good. Not _that_ way,” he adds when she cocks an eyebrow. “It was simply- nice. We had a good time together. And it was really only PG-13, honest. You can stop leering.”

She laughs. “I wasn’t leering, believe me. You’re just feeling guilty. You should see your face.”

He ducks his head. She’s right; his face is burning.

“You really like this guy,” she says.

“Mm,” he agrees. He does.

~

He calls Loki mid-afternoon. Thor knows his new friend is not a morning person – not that he would be either, if it weren’t for how he’s expected to show up at work each day well before lunchtime – and he doesn’t want to do anything that might cause friction. Not so early on, when they’re only just getting to know one another. “Hi,” he says softly when Loki answers. “You doing okay?”

The pause that follows is scary long. “Yeah,” Loki says at last, and Thor lets out a huge breath in a slow, silent whistle. “I had a really nice time last night.”

“I’m glad,” Thor tells him, really, really meaning it. “Me, too.”

~

When you add it all up, it’s starting to be a pretty regular thing. A couple of days a week, Thor shows up at Loki’s or Loki shows up at Thor’s. They have dinner, or dessert, or drinks, or popcorn and a movie. They sit outside and talk under the stars. They kiss, slow and languid or hot and frantic. Either way, Thor loves it.

Loki lets Thor devour his mouth, his face, the long lines of his neck and shoulders. He sometimes doesn’t pull away when Thor traces a finger beneath his waistband or slides a hand down cup his hip.

There’s a pattern there for the spotting, though, and it worries Thor a little:

Loki invariably turns down Thor’s offers of a chance to play (actually play, as in splash around; nothing more than that) in the pool, even on the hottest days. He won’t undress, regardless of how badly his clothes are getting in the way, and – while he’s fine with Thor’s hand down his pants – he shies away from so much as a single finger up under his shirt.

“Hey,” Thor says quietly when, after a very hot, bothered late afternoon where Loki’s been all but climbing him comes to an abrupt and awkward end because he forgets himself and tries to slide a hand along the skin of Loki’s back, things get a little strained. Yet again. “Talk to me. Please? I need to know what’s happening.”

“I- I can’t,” Loki protests. He’s curled tight against Thor’s chest. “You won’t understand. Maybe I should just lea-.”

“Shh,” Thor cuts in. “I might. Try me.”

They sit like that for a good three minutes, in silence.

“You can’t see me,” Loki finally whispers into Thor’s shoulder as Thor gently pets him, “or touch my back or chest. I have- a past,” he adds quickly. “And scars. But it’s- that’s not me. It’s not the way I think of myself, and I don’t let anyone see it. Not anyone. Not even you.”

 _Oh. Oh, good God_.

Thor feels- a million awful feelings, all at once. He wants to hold Loki close and beat the shit out of whoever would do that to anyone and cry and rant and put Loki naked on a pedestal and scream _fuck you_ to the whole motherfucking universe.

“Oh,” he says softly instead, as he cuddles Loki that much closer. “I’m so, so sorry.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lazy summer evenings are great for a dip.

The next time Loki comes over, Thor vows, he will be ready. He's done the math - he's been allowed to touch Loki's rear, skin on skin inside Loki's pants... and the day of the Gravel Incident he'd seen most of one of Loki's long, slender, soft-furred legs - and based on the evidence he’s determined that their problem, such as it were, must be a _torso problem_.

The night after they'd talked (a little), he'd done his research. The following evening, on the way home from work, he'd hit one of the fancy little fitness stores down in the shopping district.

Two days later, Loki asks about stopping over. It's a hot, steamy evening, perfect for a nice soak in the pool; of course Thor tells him “yes” and “please.” Loki shows up in shorts, and Thor breathes a silent sigh of relief; with both (lovely) legs on display from his toes practically all the way to his ass, Loki seems perfectly comfortable.

Still, he decides to present his offering right away. This way it won't seem, he hopes, like an ambush. "I got you something," he says, holding out a dark stack of folded material. "Maybe you’ll find it helpful." He takes a deep breath and very, very slowly exhales.

Loki hums as he unfolds everything - a long-sleeved quarter-zip rash guard and its short-sleeved cousin, both in a nice, firmly-stretchy blackish-green spandex fabric that's heavy enough to smooth and dark enough to not be the least bit see-through (dry or soaked), and a cute pair of black swim shorts that manage to be both a lot less than _trunks_ and a lot more than _banana hammock_ \- and sets it on the patio table.

"It's so hot," Thor offers. "I thought you might want to spend some time in the water."

"Mm," Loki says. His voice breaks just slightly. "This is- nice of you. Thank you. You shouldn't-."

"It's nothing," Thor cuts in. "Like I said, _hot_. I want to enjoy my pool, without leaving you stranded on the edge. See?" He smiles and gently touches the tip of Loki's nose. "I'm selfish. But if you're interested," he adds, pointing towards the back of the house, "there's a little changing room over by the waterfall."

Loki looks at the clothes, then the pool, then the clothes again... and then quickly at Thor. "Yeah," he says. "Why not? Okay."

~

Once he's alone Thor strips off his shorts and pulls on his own bottoms, a darkish cherry red pair of swim shorts cut along the same lines as the ones he'd gotten Loki. He dives right into the pool, too, and holds onto the opposite edge for a moment to rake the wet hair out of his eyes. The water is perfect. Just cold enough to take his breath away. He lets go of the side and lets himself come slowly up to floating. Perfect.

Thor purposefully doesn't pop up when he hears Loki on the ladder. He doesn't even open his eyes, not until Loki calls out a soft "hey" from somewhere near the pool's middle.

Then, Thor blinks. "Hey," he says in return. "Everything fit okay?"

"Mm-hm. And when I put it on I was sure it would be too hot... but in here, it's- well, it's not. It feels pretty much like just being in the water."

Thor smiles. He sculls with tiny strokes to make sure he stays put and doesn’t bob away backwards. "Just like a bathing suit, only better."

Loki lazily sidestrokes closer. He bobs along like a sleek, wet otter. "You can swim," Thor blurts out, stupidly. So many people can’t, at least around here. It’s what he’s used to.

"Or I can drown," Loki offers with a knowing little smirk, and that’s _not_ what Thor’s used to. Loki’s hands come up and just like that he disappears below the surface.

Thor's brain recognizes that the whole thing must be a game; his body is both less rational and quicker. He's underwater in the space of two heartbeats, with one big arm around Loki’s waist and both feet kicking. “Sorry,” he says when they break the surface together, flailing and sputtering. His heart is racing, both from what just transpired and from very real dread. “Gut reaction.” _Shit_.

Loki coughs. He shakes his head. “I probably had it coming.” He smiles, teeth gleaming white against the long shadows of sunset. “My own personal hero.”

That’s not so bad, really. Thor lets it go. He breaststrokes in slow circles around the pool. Around Loki. “So,” he asks on his ninth or tenth way by, “how does playing in the pool compare to looking at it?”

“Differently good.” Loki smirks and uses both hands to push a miniature wave at his face. “But either way, if I squint, I can pretend you’re naked.”

_And I could be, inside of ten seconds,_ Thor thinks. _All you have to do is say the word_. He smiles. Another day, another time. Today, he needs to take things a whole lot more slowly. “Is it okay if- can I hold you?” After a few minutes in the water he’s cooled down enough that his whole body is simply itching to _touch_. He stops where he is and waits, kicking now and then to stay in place, with his arms spread wide just below the surface.

Rather than answering, Loki swims towards him. When their bodies touch, slick Lycra against his chest and Loki’s cool skin against his thigh, Thor loops an arm around Loki’s waist (gently, this time) and steers them both into shallower water.

It’s so much better than he ever could have hoped. The rash guard fits Loki like a second skin; Thor’s hands glide over it without ever once accidentally ending up where they shouldn’t go.

The two of them kiss, hard and desperate, near the side of the pool with Loki’s legs wrapped around his waist and their hands tangled in one another’s wet hair. 

“You’re so smart,” Loki says against Thor’s mouth. The buzz of it tickles, and Thor licks his lips (and Loki’s in the process). They kiss again. And again, until Thor’s legs are a little wobbly with the strain of keeping them both above water.

“I only want to see you happy,” he tells Loki. He pretends he can’t feel the press of Loki’s erection just inside his hipbone.

“Thank you,” Loki says again. “Because just now, I am.”

~

When their stomachs are growling and everything else about them is hopelessly wrinkled, Thor laces his fingers into Loki’s and leads the way up out of the pool. “We should eat,” he protests as Loki wraps around him again. “Well, we should get out of this wet stuff and _then_ eat. Here,” he adds quickly when Loki flinches, “let me get you a towel.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confessions...

Thor debates and debates and debates. He picks up the phone and starts to call before hanging up, over and over, three or four times in quick succession. Finally, Darcy calls him back while he’s screwing around; that makes his decision for him. “Um,” he says. He feels ridiculous. “Hi. How are you?”

“What’s going on,” she says. “Having trouble with your phone, or are you just acting squirrely? Is Loki okay?”

He thinks so. He _hopes_ so. “I- yeah. But I- he- something happened to him. Years ago, I guess,” he clarifies, so she doesn’t jump to the wrong conclusion. “Someone hurt him, apparently. What- do you know what that was about?”

She sighs. “It’s not really my story to tell,” she warns. “If he wants you to know about it, I’m sure he’ll fill you in.”

“He seems really uncomfortable about it,” Thor insists. “I’m not sure he’ll ever tell anyone.”

Darcy laughs. “No, believe me, he will. He just needs to be sure he can trust you.”

Thor frowns at his own reflection in the window across from his desk. “And what can I do to help that happen,” he asks. He doesn’t _feel_ untrustworthy. He _isn’t_ untrustworthy. He’s a good person.

“Well,” she says, “you pretty much just have to be patient… trust is funny, in that you have to earn it.”

That’s reasonable. The whole thing is frustrating, sure – not because he’s owed an answer; just because he wants to understand what’s going on - but it does make sense. “Was it something really awful,” he can’t help but ask, though. “That’s my last question, I promise.”

“Yeah,” she tells him after a long pause. “It was. Now let it go.”

~

He absolutely doesn’t want Loki to feel pressured, and – as much as he loves how close they’ve been getting, physically – Thor feels like they ought to do something different for a change. They need to take a break from what’s rapidly becoming a pattern. Not that it’s a _bad_ pattern; Thor would cheerfully make out with Loki 24 hours a day from now until eternity if he thought he could get away with it. It’s wonderful and there’s nothing he doesn’t like about it.

That said, he knows – if they’re going to develop any true rapport, which is really what he’d like to see happen – it’s going to take more than a bunch of frenzied kissing to get them to where he’d like this to be. With that in mind Thor suggests a picnic. “We could go hiking,” he tells Loki. “Or not, if you don’t want to. There’s a pretty waterfall, a real one, where we can just sit and talk. Either way, it would be nice to get outside.”

It’s a beautiful day. Who could argue? Loki doesn’t even try. “What can I bring,” he asks, as soon as Thor stops talking.

“Just yourself,” Thor assures him. “Yourself, and a blanket to sit on.”

~

They perch together on the banks of the river, picnic basket beside Loki and cooler at Thor’s feet. “What’s going on,” Loki asks. He’d been quiet in the car, looking out the window with his hands pressed between his thighs. Now that they’ve walked in from the parking lot and found a nice place to eat, he seems tense and uncomfortable. Suspicious. “I don’t understand. Have I done something wrong? Am I in trouble?”

“ _What_? No. There’s nothing going on, and you’re fine. You haven’t done anything.” Thor assures him, wondering in spite of himself if this was a good idea after all. “I just wanted us to spend some time together.”

Loki plucks a long blade of grass and pulls it slowly between his fingers, over and over. “You’re not okay with me being- different,” he says. “Or weird, or whatever.”

Thor takes a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds. “I’m very okay with it, actually,” he says. “I just- I really like you. I want this” – he gestures across the small space in between them – “this- _whatever it is_ to continue.” He takes another big gulp of air. “But I don’t want it to turn out to be one of those relationships you don’t do.”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I,” Loki snaps. That’s totally not what Thor wants.

He reaches out and traces a finger down Loki’s arm, brushing lightly over the pale, soft hairs. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he says quietly, trying to salvage things. “Look, I just figured we should talk for a little while rather than taking the easy route and spending the whole day making out. Not that I don’t want to. I just don’t want that to become a- a crutch. An excuse for not talking.”

“If you can’t stand not knowing what happened to me, just get it over with and ask already.” Loki’s voice has a hard edge to it that’s scaring Thor.

“No,” he says, in turn a little sharper than he means to. “If you want to tell me, you can. Now, or whenever. But I just want to talk with you. About anything at all.”

“Fine,” Loki huffs. “Talk, then.”

Thor does.

He talks about his childhood, about growing up – for good and for bad – with his much-beloved brother. He describes Balder’s paintings; the way they spoke to people and, as a result, marked his brother as a prodigy. Thor explains how Balder got all the breaks growing up; how, because his brother was lovely and fragile and sensitive, the blame for every bit of childish friction between them landed squarely on his own shoulders. Not once, not when he deserved it; every single time.

After he’s done with that – and he’s kind of pleased to find the whole thing with Balder really isn’t as upsetting as it has always been; in much the same manner as an oyster shaping a pearl, it seems, he has encapsulated the sharp parts of his childhood and smoothed them over until they can no longer hurt him – Thor goes on to talk about his mother. He tells Loki how beautiful Frigga was, and how kind. How very, very much he misses her, now that she’s lost to him forever. Thor lovingly describes her weaving, her strong, warm nature, and the way she always made him feel precious. He skips over the details of her death, mostly out of habit. Instead he simply talks about the things he misses most: her inquisitiveness, her patience, her unending willingness to make things better for her family. He tells Loki how supportive she’d been when he’d come out as bisexual, and then again when he’d gone back and admitted he was really gay

Thor doesn’t talk much about his father. He’d rather not, really, any time he can avoid it. It’s not that he hates Odin or anything; it’s just that, if he can skip past the unpleasantness of explaining that part of his family situation, he invariably opts to do so. He and his father… well, they don’t see eye to eye. And that can be a problem, if he lets it.

He tries not to.

As he talks Thor touches Loki. At first, it’s just his fingertips on Loki’s arm, light and gentle. Eventually, though, Thor works his way up to Loki’s shoulders; they’re warm and angular through the worn charcoal t-shirt his- his _friend_ is wearing. He slides his fingers up the back of Loki’s neck and into the tumble of loose, black curls. When nothing happens Thor scratches lightly at Loki’s scalp, then brings his other hand up and starts rubbing Loki’s shoulders. He keeps his hands high and the massage- careful. Even so, he can feel ridges beneath his palms.

With every stroke he’s certain Loki will pull away.

Loki doesn’t. In fact, he slowly melts into a gray and black and pale-skinned puddle alongside Thor’s thigh.

“Is this okay,” Thor whispers. He’d stopped talking maybe ten minutes ago now and is busy just working the kinks out of Loki’s shoulders. His thumbs drag, catching the soft fabric of Loki’s shirt and pulling it into rippling folds.

“Nn,” Loki says – or moans, really. “It feels wonderful.”

Thor thinks so too. He works his way down Loki’s spine, one sharp knob at a time. He wants to slip his hands under Loki’s shirt so badly, to pull Loki close and feel warm skin against his skin. He doesn’t, though. He’s made a promise. Or, if not, he’s made something close enough to count as one.

~

“This didn’t turn out quite the way I expected,” Thor whispers against Loki’s lips as they lie curled together on the blanket. Loki snakes a hand around the back of his neck and presses their mouths together. “I was aiming for more talking and less kissing.”

Loki smiles. He kisses the bridge of Thor’s nose, then Thor’s eyelids. “You talked plenty,” he says. “Now it’s like I’ve known you forever. I can recite your whole life story.”

Thor kisses Loki back, hard. “On the other hand,” he says mildly – these could be fighting words, and that’s not what he’s going for – “I still know the exact same _pretty much nothing_ about you that I knew when we got here.”

“I was a foster child,” Loki tells him abruptly. “My parents abandoned me; my foster parents were strongly homophobic and they tried to beat my budding sexuality out of me. I’m a runaway. I lived on the streets for a while, before I found an above-board way to work for a living. Loki’s voice is tight and clipped. “There, that’s some of it. Feel better?”

The shock hits him hard. “No,” Thor whispers. “Not at all.” He clears his throat. “Well, unless you do.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy makes some course corrections.

Loki watches from across the table, arms crossed and posture just plain awful (so much so that, if he slides any further down in his chair, he's going to slip out of it entirely and crash to the floor blow... oh, and smack his head on the chair and his face on the table in the process). Simply sitting here he can _feel_ how his hair is a greasy mess, and he's sporting half a week of scruff. He’s revolting. Still, he’s got _some_ last shreds of pride; he chews the inside of his cheek and makes himself not touch or cover any of it.

Darcy carefully extracts two coffees from the bag she's carrying and plops them down. The table is pretty much buried in messy hills of paper; she must decide the piles will serve as good enough coasters. "Have you eaten anything," she asks.

He shrugs. He hasn't. Not unless you count the handful of raisins, and that was yesterday. Or was it the day before? Huh. Maybe.

"Well, I got you this" - she pulls out a clear container; it's a greek yogurt parfait, with blueberries and granola - "and this, for afterwards." Darcy pushes the yogurt and a spoon towards him, down the gentle slope of a small paper hill and into easy reach. She keeps the chocolate croissant, though, and puts it back into the bag. "Eat," she prods. "I'll wait."

She's neat and work-appropriate, in dark clothes with bright lipstick and chunky glasses and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Loki feels so disgusting – so disgusted with himself - that his skin crawls. He knows from past experience that Darcy won't leave him alone until he eats, though. There’s no point in trying to budge her. Instead, he pops off the domed lid and helps himself to a small spoonful. "Mm," he says, sitting up some and trying harder to fake _normal_. "Thanks for saving me a trip to the store."

"Right," she says. She knows he’s full of it; just looking at her, which he mostly isn’t doing, he can tell. "So. What's all this about?"

He takes another bite and chews slowly. "I'm working," he tells her. "Been really, really busy."

She cocks an eyebrow and looks at him over her glasses. "Busy. Right. Too busy to shower or shave or return a call. _Fifteen_ calls. Let me tell you, I’m beyond impressed. That sure is dedication."

"I let myself get behind," he tries. "Distracted. I know I owe you-."

"Oh no no," she warns. "Don't go blaming this on me. No way.” She pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “Spill it: what happened?"

Sometimes he really hates how easily she can sink her teeth into his ankle and shake him up. "Thor made me tell him stuff I didn't want to talk about," he explains. "It upset me." He can't look at her, though. It’s barely even a half-truth, and by now they both know it. There's simply no way he’s convincing.

"Okay," she says too brightly. "Let's try this again from the top, this time without all the lying."

Loki sighs. "He was too nice. Too caring. I spilled a bunch of awful things. Things I can't tell anybody."

"Anything I don't know?"

He thinks. "No, not really." He scoops up another big bite of yogurt and wishes desperately that this conversation was over.

"That doesn't sound at all like _made me_ ," she points out, "or like _can’t tell anybody_ , does it? So, what _did_ he do to you?"

Loki looks up at the ceiling. The chandelier casts the most interesting shadows. "I dunno. He was too easy to talk to?" He knows how stupid this sounds. "I told him no, but-..."

"But what? Then you started talking anyway and he didn't stop you?"

Pretty much. "Mm," he hums. "Look, I'm busy. I don't have time for him."

"Right," she says again, in the exact same tone of voice she'd used earlier. The one that says _knock it off with your bullshit_. "So, tell me this: do you know what your friend Thor is spending his days doing?"

He doesn't; she shouldn't.

"He's wondering what the hell he did to hurt you."

Loki, for his part, is wondering what Darcy's been sharing with Thor. "Just tell him to go away," he says instead. "To leave us alone. He will, you know, if you ask him to." The guy's probably just dying to be let off the chivalry hook anyway. No one in his (or her, for that matter) right mind wants to be saddled with _a Loki_.

"Look at me," Darcy orders. It isn't easy, but he does. "Is that what you really want me to do? Ah-ah," she chides. "I said look at me."

He squints. He can feel the tears starting, somewhere back in his head. "No," he whispers.

"Maybe you should get dealing with this over with, then?"

Loki can't. He's paralyzed. He hasn't got the energy. "I'm too gross," he says. "Some other time."

"Ooh, valiant attempt," she says. "But no. Good thing for you this dump has a shower. But go ahead… finish your food first. Then you can wash up, and we'll all do dinner."

He's at once horrified and relieved. "All," he sputters. "What? Who?"

"Just the three of us," she clarifies. "You guys can make peace; I'll chaperone."

~

The water feels nice on his skin. Loki carefully blanks his mind and lets the shower soak him. When he's drenched he picks out a sharply astringent herbal shampoo that doesn't remind him of anything. _It's a good thing she's here so early_ , he thinks as his tries to wash his hair; it's going to take a good solid hour to work the snarls out of this mop.

It’s heavenly to soap himself, though. After the way this week has gone, he pays special attention to his pits and groin. There's nothing worse than coming out of the shower still stinking.

As he's rinsing himself clean, Loki traces - one after another - the long scars that swirl over his chest and does his best not to think of- of anything.

~

He works leave-in detangler through his hair - even that's a challenge - and shaves over the sink. Once everything's cleaned up he inspects himself in the mirror; except for the big dark circles under his eyes, he's looking almost human. Whew.

Darcy knocks softly on the door. At least he hopes it's Darcy; he wouldn’t put inviting Thor over past her. "Hey,” she says into the crack he opens, “want me to comb out your hair for you?"

Loki actually groans aloud. Want help with that? Oh, does he ever. "Grab me a t-shirt," he tells her, "and then I'll let you." She has curly hair too; she knows exactly how to comb his out without it feeling like she's scalping him.

"So I called Thor," she offers as she works on a particularly stubborn knot.

"Let me guess," Loki says. There's no way Thor still wants to deal with him after all this ridiculousness. "He's unexpectedly busy. So sorry. Maybe another time that, you know... that never actually materializes."

She gives a handful of his hair a sharper-than-necessary tug. "No, silly. He invited us over. I told him I thought we should do a restaurant this time, though. And after everything you've said about his cooking, kiddo, you have no idea how much that pained me."

"Ouch," he fusses as she gives him another quick tug. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"You want to see him again," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the universe. It is, maybe. "But you have all this drama to get past. I'm just doing what I can to make it easy."

~

The restaurant is trendy and busy. Thor has gotten them a table outside, in a relatively quiet spot over by the rose arbor. Loki hangs back as Darcy hurries in for a quick hug, but Thor comes right to him and wraps him in a huge embrace without any sign of hesitation.

Thor lets them the two of them choose their own seats. He waits for Loki to take his hand (which Loki wasn’t going to do… but ends up only able to resist for so long, where _so long_ ends up being _maybe_ 90 seconds), too, but then he laces their fingers together and kisses the tips of Loki's. "It's nice to see you," he says. Not "what happened," or "I was worried," although there’s no missing the way he _looks_ worried.

"Yeah," Loki says. "Um, I'm sorry."

Thor smiles warmly. He kisses Loki's fingers again. "You don't need to be."

~

Having Darcy along actually turns out to be more fun than awkward. She's good at steering a conversation and at making sure they switch topics before anything gets too heavy. They talk about Loki's writing and the IT security tools and services Thor's employer sells. They talk about what they do for fun. Thor fills Darcy in on his renovation projects; she in turn shares pleasant, nonthreatening bits on how their – hers, Thor’s - old friend Jane has been doing.

Eventually Loki kicks a shoe off and walks his toes up Thor's calf.

Thor licks his lips and shoots Loki a look that almost _burns_.

~

"You're both welcome to stop over for dessert," Thor tells them both as Darcy deals with the bill ("it's a business expense," she'd assured them, flipping their reaching hands away with all ten red-polished nails. "A girl can dream, can't she?").

Darcy covers her mouth and yawns, mostly discretely. Loki's absolutely sure she's faking. "I think I'm going to turn in, actually" she says. "Loki? I don't want to strand you."

It's still early; the sun is just starting to set. Loki has sat here long enough to know that he really, really wants this.

"Tell you what," Thor suggests. "We can stop off and pick up your car if you want to."

It's a sweet gesture, and just like that it isn't needed. "I'll just ride with you," Loki says to Thor. "We can worry about later, later."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calming.

He’d be lying if he called himself anything but pleased with the way dinner had unfolded. Even so, it’s only been a few hours since a week of what felt awfully close to _we’re not speaking_ ended, and Thor still isn’t quite sure what changed. Or what led to the original impasse, for that matter.

Loki is clearly hungry – _starving_ – for physical contact, and Thor has certainly missed it as well. He still doesn’t want that to be the sole point of this- _whatever it is_ , though. On top of which he doesn’t want to misread Loki’s physical need as something it isn’t (or, at least, _might not be_ , because he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t _hoping_ , too) and launch himself right back into the doghouse.

Most of all, he doesn’t want to inadvertently hurt or frighten Loki.

“Ah-ah,” he says as Loki tries for another kiss. “Let’s not rush. I’ve been enjoying talking with you, and I don’t have to work tomorrow, so we can take all the time we want.”

“What if what I _want_ is to spend my _time_ doing this,” Loki challenges, kissing Thor hard on the mouth.

“Then you might have to compromise,” Thor says. He smiles, because in a way he really is teasing. “How about a shoulder rub?” He pats the long picnic bench alongside the table nearest the pool. “Sit. I’ll make it worth it.”

Loki shuffles and grumbles, but he doesn’t look genuinely angry or even particularly apprehensive. Ultimately he does sit, swinging a leg over to straddle the bench and settling his behind with a little wriggle that leaves Thor just this side of short of breath.

“Perfect,” Thor tells Loki, as though it’s nothing. “Give me a minute to get rid of the bugs and I’ll join you.” He lights some of the citronella oil torches this time, because he likes the way they look at dusk, but supplements them with a few of the candles. It’s been a warm day. That, combined with such a still night, means mosquitoes are pretty much guaranteed to be a problem. “Would you like something to drink,” he offers once the two of them are pretty much surrounded. It’s an odd little prayer circle.

“Can I have a glass of wine,” Loki asks, twisting to look back over one shoulder. A torch flickers behind him, casting his angular face into shadow.

“Sure,” Thor says. Wine sounds good. “But if we have more than a glass or two you may find yourself stuck here.”

Loki half-shrugs. “I’ll take my chances.”

Thor makes himself not react. “White?” It’s still hot, and something cool will taste good.

“Mm,” Loki agrees. “Whatever you have handy.”

~

When Thor comes back outside a few minutes later, juggling the bottle, a heavy terra cotta wine cooler, and a couple of stemless glasses (they just work better outside; there’s so much less breakage), he has to stop at the top of the steps and smile. Loki is stretching, leading first with one wrist and then the other. It’s- visually pleasing, made all the more so by the fading pink-orange light of sunset.

He whistles quietly, just to himself, and makes his way carefully back to the table.

“This okay,” Thor asks Loki, showing the bottle. It’s a good pinot gris, perfect for drinking on its own but nice with cookies too. “It goes really well with my favorite biscotti.”

“Oooh,” Loki exclaims. “I _love_ biscotti.”

Thor takes that as a _yes_ and threads in the corkscrew. “Give me a second,” he says once the wine is poured. “I’ll be right back with cookies.”

~

Working the knots out of Loki’s shoulders through his t-shirt isn’t ideal. The fabric makes Thor’s fingers tingle, and even though it’s tissue-thin the stuff drags and bunches.

That, and Loki’s hair keeps getting in the way. Which, at least, is easily fixable. “Do you mind if I put this up,” Thor asks softly, petting Loki’s hair one-handed. Dusk is a quiet time, with just the chirps of a few birds still finishing up the day’s activities, and he doesn’t want to spoil it. “I don’t want to keep accidentally pulling it on you.”

“Um, no,” Loki says. He straightens a little, so his head is no longer hanging. “I don’t mind. I don’t think I have a tie, though.”

Thor keeps the other hand on Loki’s back, between the shoulder blades, as he digs in his own pocket. “No worries,” he tells Loki. “I’m sure I’ve got one.” He slides his hand slowly up the back of Loki’s neck and catches a big handful of soft curls. Loki helps. Their fingers tangle together comically.

That, plus the first of the wine, is enough to start them laughing.

“Thank you,” Loki huffs once they settle back down. He pulls the front of his shirt up and blots his eyes with it. “I needed that.”

“Good,” Thor tells him. “So did I.” He did. He means it.

~

They get Loki’s hair up out of the way and Thor goes to work in earnest. Loki is tense at first, and there are a lot of knots in his neck and shoulders, but Thor is _good_ at this and it doesn’t take as long to knead out all but the worst of them. “It’s better with oil, I know,” Thor apologizes, “but I get it; that’s not an option.”

Loki rolls his neck. “How good is better?”

“You’ve never had a real massage,” Thor asks. He hopes he doesn’t sound as shocked as he feels. It’s sad. Someone who adores being touched as much as Loki clearly does would love being reduced to a smooth, slippery puddle. “Not even once?”

“Yeah, no,” Loki snips. “Never. Is that a sin or something?”

Thor can feel Loki tighten up under his hands. He feels bad about that, too. “No, of course not. It’s just- I think you would really, really like it. Sometime, I mean. Whenever- whenever you’re ready.”

“What if I’m never ready,” Loki asks. He’s still tense.

Thor wishes he hadn’t mentioned it. “Then you won’t be,” he says. “It’s not anything that important. Forget I said anything. Really.”

Loki breathes in. Thor can feel his muscles shifting. His ribcage expands, then contracts again as he exhales with a loud sigh. “Is it something you’re able to do in the dark,” he asks. “Complete dark, I mean, not with candles or anything.”

“Absolutely,” Thor assures him, because he knows he can. “It’s a hands thing, not an eyes thing.”

“Fine,” Loki says, sounding a little wobbly. He takes a big swig of wine. “Let’s do it.”

Thor frowns at Loki’s back. He gives Loki’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Are you sure? I wasn’t trying to pressure you.”

“I know,” Loki tells him. “And yes. Just be sure you really do make it worth it.”

~

Loki helps; he scoops up the wine cooler and biscotti while Thor blows everything out and collects the glasses.

They make their way up the steps and into the kitchen. “Don’t read into this,” Thor says, feeling abruptly nervous, “but the master bedroom is the darkest.”

“Sure,” Loki says. His tone is light but his voice still sounds a little brittle. “Wherever.”

~

They lug their dessert, such is it were, upstairs with them. Thor helps Loki lay everything out on the table at the foot of the bed. While he spreads towels across the bed itself to catch wayward oil, Loki stands awkwardly on the little rug and fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt.

Thor looks at his friend across the corner of the bed. “You can call this off at any time, you know,” he promises. “I mean that.” He passes Loki the oil to smell. It’s one of his personal favorites, very lightly vanilla-and-nutmeg-scented.

Loki sniffs and laughs. “I’m going to smell like a cookie.”

“Is that a problem,” Thor asks, feeling a little better and laughing along with him.

“I suppose not,” Loki concedes. “It’s not as if there’s anything not to like about cookies.”

Thor pours some oil into a heavy, flat-bottomed pottery bowl and sets it on the bed. “Lights out,” he says. “Lie down when you’re ready.”

Loki’s face flushes, up his neck and across his chees. “Everything off,” he asks, very softly.

_Oh, my_.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Thor suggests, reaching for the light switch. “Surprise me.”

Loki’s clothing clicks and thumps on the floor. The bed dips and shifts as he sits and then lies flat on the mattress. “All yours,” he says. “Have at it.”

Thor sits carefully down beside him.

If the situation were different, which it isn’t, Thor would straddle Loki’s hips. It gives him the best angle and in turn would give Loki the best massage. _Another time_ , he thinks, _maybe_. Tonight, it’s already uncomfortable enough and they’re both just going to have to work with it.

He turns on the iPod – just some light jazz, to give Loki something pleasant to focus on – and then oils up his hands and gets started.

~

Loki’s shoulders feel wonderful. Smooth skin slides easily over long, sleek muscles. As he works his way slowly down Loki’s back, Thor is careful not to react to or linger over the scars; he can feel them under his fingers, of course – long, narrow ridges that cover Loki’s back in what could almost be some sort of pattern – but calling attention to them seems like a very bad idea.

It’s a privilege to be doing this, and he doesn’t want to lose it.

~

Before long Thor can feel Loki melting beneath his hands. He works his way up to Loki’s shoulders and down both arms to the wrists, then back up and down Loki’s ribs to the top of the hips.

He actually _is_ a little surprised to realize Loki’s- well, naked. Thor carefully doesn’t react to that either, though. He skims his hands along the sides of Loki’s hips – he doesn’t want to take advantage, or misjudge and make things horribly awkward – and continues with the strong muscles of Loki’s hamstrings.

“I think I could lie here like this forever,” Loki whispers.

Thor curls down to plant a soft kiss just above Loki’s tailbone. “You know,” he says, “I’m not sure that’s a problem.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop the ball, pick it up.

Once Thor's dead certain he's wrung out every bit of Loki's flesh he can (without risking the whole thing going six kinds of sideways), he leans down to kiss the little hollow between Loki's collarbones and gropes around for a fresh towel. Loki's breathing is coming in uneven pants, but whatever… so is his own. That, and his forearms are aching. "Hey," he says softly, nudging the towel against Loki's ribs. "Do you want me to clean you up, or would you rather do it?"

"You can," Loki whispers. As Thor starts on one of his shins, though - the towel gently wiping the skin dry and liberating all the fine hairs - Loki sighs heavily.

"Are you sure about this," Thor asks quietly. "Because you're welcome to do it. Or you can hop in the shower, if that's more to your liking."

"It's not that," Loki says. His voice is rough. "It's just- never mind. Forget it. It doesn't matter."

Thor lays a hand carefully on the front of Loki's hip. He does his best not to react to the cool, thick string of liquid that breaks and drips across his fingers. "It matters to me," he says softly. "What were you starting to say?"

Loki groans. Thor's hand drags up onto his hipbone as he hitches himself onto one side, facing away. "It's just- I wish you were attracted to me."

That does it. Thor can't catch himself in time. He chokes a little on his own saliva. "Seriously," he says, between coughs. "All the time we've spent- making out, and you think I'm not attracted?" His erection is so pinched in his shorts that it's actually throbbing. "Why," he asks. "Why would- why do you _think_ that?"

"You just spent" - Loki fumbles for the clock on the bedside table, and Thor blinks and squints as the display spins to face them - "a whole hour giving me a backrub... a fabulous backrub, don’t get me wrong... and yet nothing whatsoever came of it. Nothing. Oh, fuck. I'm being stupid. Ignore me. Pretend I never said anything."

"Hey," Thor says. He runs the pad of his thumb back and forth over Loki's hipbone, trying to be- to be calming. "You don't need to worry. I'm so attracted to you that it's literally hurting me."

"But," Loki finishes, with awful finality.

Thor's heart hurts almost as badly as his dick does. Almost. "No _buts_ ," he assures Loki. "I'm attracted. I want you. Pure, simple. But we've been drinking and that's not what you agreed to earlier." He clears his throat. This could really backfire. He so, so doesn’t want it to. "I know- well, I know you've been through an awful lot, at least from what you've told me. I've already seen how easily your feet get cold. I- I just think we should talk about it before things go too far." He laughs, mostly to himself and far too sadly. "And lest you mistake me for a selfless saint, it's for me, too. I like you. I really, really like you. I'd much rather be friends - no, wait, hear me out -" he insists as Loki tries to shift out from under his hand, "than score a one-night stand and end up losing everything." He tiptoes his fingers up to the dip of Loki's waist and lets his palm settle there. "So now you know. I'm a hopeless sap, and I care about you. Go ahead: take my little porcelain heart and crush it for me."

Inside his head, Thor counts slowly to 98 before his pounding, fragile heart wins and he can't hold his breath any longer.

When Loki finally speaks, he sounds dangerously close to crying. Not that Thor isn't. "Really?"

"Yes." Thor gives Loki's side the smallest of squeezes. "Really. If I didn't care so much you'd be screaming into the mattress by now. That, or you would have broken my nose for taking advantage."

Loki snuffles. "Can I stay, then?"

"Of course," Thor tells him. "Any sleeping arrangements you want, I'm game. But you should know that it won't be dark in here in the morning."

"I'll wear an old t-shirt," Loki suggests. "If you have one I can borrow. And Thor?"

Thor pets Loki’s hip again. Maybe this isn't going to implode after all, even if he _is_ still a lot harder than he needs to be. "Yes, baby?"

"Can we mess around in the morning?"

"Sure," Thor tells him. It’s an easy enough promise to make; he can’t think of a better way to start the day tomorrow. "If you still want to." He shifts carefully, trying not to bounce the bed and jostle Loki too badly. "For now, let's get this stuff off you."

~

For all his complaining it seems Loki enjoys being gently towel-rubbed almost much as he’d liked Thor’s massage earlier. He sprawls back out on the bed, purring and wriggling.

By the time Thor has him cleaned up, it’s taking every bit of willpower not to jump him.

~

“I need to turn the lights on,” Thor warns. He passes Loki the last clean towel. “Go ahead and wrap up in this. I’ll get you a t-shirt to sleep in.”

“And a glass of wine, and another cookie,” Loki says. From the sound of his voice, he’s finally really smiling.

“Lovely. Just what I want in bed,” Thor grumbles. “Crumbs.” He can’t pull it off, though… he can’t help but laugh. “Sorry. Really. Just let me know when you’re decent.”

~

With Loki’s go-ahead, Thor stretches towards the head of the bed and turns on one of the reading lights. As he waits for his eyes to adjust to the light, he gets to his feet and peels out of his own clothing.

He’s normally not particularly body-conscious. He’s a big, muscular guy and he stays in good shape, sure. Even so, it’s not like he spends much time admiring himself in the mirror or anything. Consequently, Thor’s a little surprised when he turns around to head for the dresser and catches the raw _heat_ in Loki’s expression.

“Here,” he offers, hastily passing Loki the plate. He can feel his own face flushing. “Please. Have a cookie.”


	20. Chapter 20

Loki wakes with a start. Everything is all wrong. The light is too bright. The room itself is far too full of it. The mattress is too soft; the bedding is too deep and rich and fluffy. For a long moment he half-sits, frozen, in a drowsy stupor… stuck in place, completely unable to move. He’s trapped; something heavy has him caught across the upper thighs.

Collectively it’s more than his groggy brain can handle; Loki panics. He sucks in a frantic double-lungful of air and struggles, shoving with both hands against the immovable weight that has him pinned.

It’s warm, hard-soft, furry weight.

_Oh_.

Loki blinks. Crap. He’s an idiot. He fights in vain against the small volcano of nervous laughter bubbling in his chest.

Because… it’s a leg.

_Thor’s leg_ , to be precise. He’s in Thor’s bed, in Thor’s gorgeous house… surrounded by fluffy pillows and soft blankets and bathed in beautiful golden light.

Basically, he’s died and gone to heaven. Without the dying, and possibly without the heaven.

Thor is lying mostly outside the covers, curled around Loki like he’s never letting go. He’s still sound asleep, his breathing deep and even. One of his hands is tangled loosely in the soft fabric of Loki’s borrowed shirt (which has ridden up to just below the ribs and is showing off several long-healed scars… even though Loki shudders and has to look away, the way the two of them are jumbled up together means the hem can’t possibly be pulled back down) and the other is tucked away under his pillow.

He’s a sculpted god, all muscles and splendor and gold-brown eyelashes fanned across his pink, rounded cheeks.

Loki’s own legs are mostly bared as well. By comparison his limbs are pale and angular and so, so thin. He reaches up and over Thor’s thigh and scratches his stomach idly, wincing at the crusty spots here and there.

Not like he’d gotten carried away or anything.

First things first. He _has_ to pee.

With a little well-placed pushing and some careful shifting, he’s able to work his way out from under Thor’s leg. Freeing the shirt turns out to be a losing battle, though. Especially since he has to pee so badly. After several failed attempts, Loki gives up and shimmies out of the thing. He simply needs to make his way quietly across the room and-.

“Hey,” Thor says softly. Loki’s muscles lock up. He can’t breathe, he can’t move. “Where’re you going? Come back?” Thor pats the bed and studies him a little harder. “Loki? Are you okay?”

There’s no way around it. He’s caught out, naked, four steps from the bed. In the bright, glorious light of a sunny morning. “I have to use the bathroom,” he says, trying to sound calm.

A slow smile spreads across Thor’s face. “Hurry back,” he says. “I’ll miss you.”

~

In the bathroom, Loki (none-too-rationally, no) contemplates his options. The window’s big enough to accommodate a fleeing man, especially a thin one, but the house has high ceilings and the drop from here into the yard is bound to break something. That, and then what? It’s not like he can head home dressed in exactly nothing.

He looks around the space. Close by the sink there’s a loaded rack of nice cut terry hand towels, thick and soft like velvet. They’re beautiful. And not nearly big enough to cover _anything_ whatsoever.

Either way, he really (really) does have to urinate. Priorities.

Once he’s relieved himself Loki splashes his face with cold water – that ridiculous tantrum has certainly done him no favors, even a day later – and tries to rake his fingers through his crazy hair.

There’s no hope for it, for any of it. There’s no hope for him. He ducks out the door and races for the bed… for the relative safety its nest of covers offers.

Thor catches Loki halfway, looping big arms around him in what’s probably meant to be a playful embrace. Being grabbed turns Loki into a wild thing. His conscious brain shorts out as he kicks and bites and claws.

~

“Hey. Hey. Shh. Don’t hurt yourself. Loki. Baby. Shh.”

Right. Thor. Awesome. Loki curls into a tiny ball, face in his hands. “Oh god. Fuck. Thor, I’m so sorry.”

Thor rests a big, warm hand on his shoulder. “For what? I startled you. I’m the one who should be apologizing. Here, roll over for a second,” Thor suggests, prodding him gently. “You’re lying on the covers.”

Loki does as he’s told, this time. Thor lets him settle onto his back and then pulls the blankets up to his shoulders. “Better?”

It is. He’s sweating from the struggle, sure, but it’s nice to be covered. It feels- safer, somehow. “Mm,” he hums, burrowing into his pillow as Thor gently strokes his hair.

He needs a few minutes to calm down.

Fortunately, Thor is endlessly patient. It isn’t really all that long before Loki feels _present_ enough again to roll onto one side and nuzzle the hard, flat planes of Thor’s chest.

When he latches on to a nipple, Thor arches and moans.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Thor tells him, all the while pressing into his mouth.

Loki licks; Thor groans. “It’s okay,” Loki says. “I want to. It was my idea to do this, remember?”

It’s dark enough under the covers to hide. It’s almost hot enough to suffocate, too, but one makes certain sacrifices. Loki shuts his eyes, works his way farther down Thor’s ribs and stomach, and steadfastly pretends he’s invisible.

~

“Wait,” Thor says, not unkindly, as Loki reaches the thick curls at his groin. “I’m coming under there too, to return the favor.”

Loki doesn’t even bother arguing about how there hasn’t been any favor to return yet.

~

It’s an awkward angle, and it puts his tongue on the wrong side of things. He tries to make up for it with his hands, before he’s so lost in the hot wetness of Thor’s mouth to pay proper attention.

He must be doing something right, though. His jaw has hardly started to complain when Thor fills his mouth with warm, bitter-salty semen.

At which point Loki- well, he _returns the favor_.

~

“Okay,” Thor pants from somewhere in the vicinity of Loki’s left knee. “Holy hell. Wow. Shit. Let’s try this again, from the beginning.” He coughs. “Good morning, Loki. It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

Loki laughs into the rumpled sheets. He kisses Thor’s wrinkly scrotum, and then the delicate inside of one powerful thigh. “It’s nice to be here,” he says. “Really, it is. I- I’m just not a morning person.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being responsible isn't easy.

Thor is still coasting along on a happy buzz halfway through the next workday. 

He and Loki had spent another two hours in bed that morning, just talking (okay, talking and kissing), and he feels like they made good headway on the whole _OMG you saw me naked I could just die_ business. They haven't had a chance to get back together yet - which is okay; he doesn't want to pressure Loki, and even working for his dad he does need to actually show up and do his job on occasion - but they've texted quite a bit and even spoken. Loki's feet are once again a little cold, but Thor's getting used to that. He knows it comes and goes. It’s predictably crazy.

Even better, this time Loki seems (quite a bit closer to) okay with working through it... together.

~

"Well," Sif says as she slides into the stacking metal chair across from him. She leans in close and pitches her voice not to carry. "Don't _you_ look like a man who's gotten laid. Congratulations? And please tell me you used protection."

"I don't kiss and tell, and thank you, and - hypothetically speaking - no. I haven't been with anyone in years. That’s how exciting the Great Life of Thor has been.” Truth be told, since he’d started renovating the house he hadn’t had eyes for anyone except his handsome, stalking then-stranger. Before that… well, everything had reminded him of Jane and how that whole mess had- hadn’t gotten off the ground. Not to mention, he hadn’t been traveling in the right circles. Sure enough he’s got a hundred excuses, each one weirder than the next. “On top of which,” he tells her, “like it’s even your business, I did just get tested."

"And your hypothetical partner, if you only had one," she prods. "He got tested too?"

"It's taken me months of knowing him to even get that close," he protests. "You know, hypothetically. I don't think he's been with anyone either."

Sif looks cross. "You don't think or you don't know? Never mind, I can tell from the look on your face," she says. "You guys need to have _the talk_. Really."

Thor groans. She's not wrong; he just can't imagine asking about it. "He'd freak," he complains. "After which point it might not matter."

She rolls her eyes. Her bag of potato chips crackles loudly as she tears it open. "You know the drill," she reminds him. "What is it you've always told me? Oh, right, I remember: if you can't talk about it, you have no business fucking."

"We weren't," he insists. He's talking too loudly; people at the tables around them are turning and looking. "I mean, hypothetically."

“Thor,” Sif says. She waits until he looks straight at her. “Talk to him. You have to.” She leans in again, conspiratorially. “Don’t play dick roulette. It really isn’t worth it.”

~

As much as he tries not to think about it, Thor finds he can’t get Sif’s warning out of his head. _If this is going anywhere_ , he thinks, _we really do have to come clean on this sort of thing_. That said, it’s all too obvious he didn’t think this up himself. Especially not after the fact. And admitting that one of his _friends_ had suggested it… well, he can’t even picture how _that_ might go over.

Actually, he can. It would end up with one of them dead in the driveway.

Kidding, kidding.

Mostly.

~

At 7:23 PM his phone rings. He looks at the display and freezes. _Loki_.

Thor can’t not take it. Not while he’s just sitting around overthinking everything. “Um, hi,” he says. “How’s it going?” This already feels stupid, and awkward. They’re just getting underway and even now he knows he sounds so tense it’s ridiculous.

“Uh, yeah,” Loki says. He sounds as weird as Thor feels. That’s frightening. “Look, I guess we should have this conversation in person, but I- I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Just like that Thor’s stomach drops, hurtling past his feet on its way deep into the basement below. “Please, no,” he says. His own voice is practically a whimper.

“What?? Oh, fuck, no,” Loki exclaims. “Oh, Thor, no. I didn’t mean that the way it must have sounded. I- I just suck at this kind of thing.”

“Oh, is there a _good_ way to tell someone it’s over,” Thor asks, icily. It’s really Sif he’s mad at, or maybe it’s really… _Thor_. But Loki- crap. He clears his throat. _Be a grown-up_ , he orders himself. “Or did I get that wrong somehow?”

“Yeah,” Loki says very, very softly. “You got it wrong. The last thing I want is for this to be over.”

Thor blinks. His eyes are wet. “So what’s going on, then?”

“Ugh,” Loki says. “Let me- don’t interrupt until I’m finished, okay? Clearly this isn’t one of my better talking days. Look, I know how this must sound and of course you won’t believe me when I say she guessed… because doesn’t everyone say that? And you’ll probably hate me.” He’s talking so fast Thor couldn’t hope to get a word in anyway. “But Darcy made me promise to talk to you and find out if you’d been- oh, god. I can’t even. Shit.”

Loki’s gotten it wrong, too. Thor isn’t angry. Actually he’s laughing so hard he’s speechless.

Because what are the odds?

“Thor?” Loki’s voice is small. Lost. “Please say something.”

The first noise Thor manages is more of a strangled squawk. “You know,” he finally gets out, “I’m starting to think we have the wrong friends.” When Loki doesn’t answer, he makes himself go on. “Sif sat me down at lunch and wanted me to talk to you about- safe sex, I guess? Whether you had any _diseases_. I’ve spent the entire afternoon worrying about how I could bring that up without you decking me.” He snorts. “But- Darcy- she told you the same thing. Right? That’s what you couldn’t say to me?”

“Jesus fuck,” Loki huffs. “What are they, some kind of creepy alien sisters?”

Loki sounds just like Thor feels. Violated. Ashamed. A little terrified. Sad, and amused. Maybe they can get past this after all. “Okay, I’ll go first,” he tells Loki. “I’ve been tested recently, long since my last sexual encounter. With- before you, I mean. So I’m clean, and I have the labs to prove it. And Darcy and Sif are both right. I should have manned up and told you sooner. I’m better than that.” He laughs. “Next?”

“Yeah, me too,” Loki says. “My last time was so long ago it’s way past embarrassing and out into _bizarre_ somewhere. And, same. Wishful thinking. I got tested a few weeks ago. Clean. Certified.” He laughs. “Certifiable.”

“Do we hate those girls,” Thor asks, mostly joking.

“Sometimes,” Loki tells him. “Any time we want to. So, did you eat yet? Should we get together for dinner? To celebrate?”

Thor’s so relieved he can practically taste it. “How about dinner _and_ celebrating?”

Loki snickers. “Right,” he agrees. “That too.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quiet time.

It's a warm night. Pretty much as soon as he gets off the phone, Thor hurries inside to wash up a little - gardening in this weather leaves him filthy, and not in a good way - and then makes his way back out onto the patio. He lights the tiki torches and sets out candles along the pool’s edge.

It's late to start the fire on a weeknight, and he's not really in the mood for grilling anyway – he feels edgy rather than patient, and he's not about to inflict rushed, sloppy food on anyone... least of all Loki - but Thor does rinse a nice head of red leaf lettuce and shred it into a bowl of cold water for salad. Feta, kalamata olives, onion, fresh-made greek dressing... all set to toss later. Crusty bread. Oil.

Wine.

He's ready.

~

Loki shows up less than an hour after the two of them had finished talking. He's clearly walked all the way from his own house, fairly quickly; he’s red-faced and sweaty and a little winded. "I'm sorry," he says from just inside the kitchen doorway, struggling to gather his hair into a messy up-do. Curly tendrils refuse to cooperate; they bounce free to frame his face. It's adorable. "I'm gross,” he insists. “I didn't think it was this humid!"

Thor crosses the kitchen in three long strides and reaches out to pull Loki close. "Shh,” he says. “Don’t say that. You're fine." It isn’t as though he’s in any position to judge, not after half an evening spent weeding. That, and Loki looks great anyway.

Thor would like nothing more than to taste and smell him.

"Do you want to take a dip and cool off before we eat, maybe," he suggests. “I checked the pool earlier; the water’s perfect.”

"Um." Loki pushes loose. He hugs himself despite the heat and shifts from one foot to the other. Back and forth, back and forth. "I dunno.” He shrugs. “I think I'm too sticky to put my swim shirt on." He looks out the window at the pool with its ring of lights, expression and body language sad. "Bummer."

"Just hop in there naked," Thor suggests, manner as matter-of-fact as possible. "You can go by yourself if you'd rather." It's dusk; here in the side yard it’s almost dark anyway. He doesn't say that, though. "I’ll wait until you’re done. Just watch out for the candles."

Loki hesitates a little longer. "I'll go first," he says, finally. "But come join me once I'm in the water?"

"Sure." Thor's tone is light but he's secretly screaming. In a good way. Loki naked in his pool is something he'd pretty much thought all along would never, ever happen. "Be my guest,” he offers. “And give me a shout when you're ready.”

He pointedly doesn't watch as Loki undresses and climbs into the water. This is about trust, in a huge and very important way, and he's basically promised not to.

Of course, none of that stops him from flying out the door like a shot when he's summoned.

~

Thor strips with his back to the pool. He pads over to the steps and walks in, gasping a little as the cool water laps first at his groin and then at his armpits. "Hi," he says, turning to smile at Loki. "May I?"

Loki bites his lip. He's underwater all the way to his neck; his hair is wild and crazy. "Mm," he hums. "C'mere."

There's certainly no need to wait for a second invitation. Thor paddles over to Loki, careful not to splash. He kisses Loki's temple. "This feels so nice," he says.

Loki nuzzles the side of his face. "Come closer."

He doesn't need a second invitation _then_ , either.

~

For several minutes Thor just holds Loki close. He buries his face in the crook of Loki's shoulder and listens as the water laps against them. Even the chill isn't enough to keep him from being aroused; that said, he still doesn't want to push. Loki willingly naked in plain sight is a precious gift, one Thor is determined not to squander. "We can eat whenever you want," he whispers against the warm shell of Loki's ear. "I just need to toss the salad."

Loki shifts to slide against him and Thor's breath catches. "You know," Loki says softly, "I almost think I'd like to enjoy the water a little longer."

Thor turns. His lips slide over smooth skin, until he can feel Loki’s lips against his own. “Good idea,” he half-mumbles into Loki’s mouth. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here with you.”

~

After that Thor doesn’t try to hold back, not any longer. He simply isn’t able to touch Loki enough. He can feel the scars under his fingertips; they’re differently slippery than the rest of Loki’s skin. It’s nice, really, except for how he knows Loki paid a debt in blood.

His hands gravitate to Loki’s arms and sides, where the skin is unmarked. As he runs his fingers up the flare of Loki’s ribcage, the two of them both shiver.

“Ah,” Loki exclaims. “That tickles!”

Thor strokes back down along Loki’s sides, this time letting his fingertips dig in a little. It must feel good, because it wins him a mouthful of Loki’s tongue. Well, that and Loki’s erection pressing hot and firm against his thigh.

~

All they really do is make out. Make out and touch each other.

And that’s fine. More than fine… it’s wonderful.

~

The salad is delicious, when they finally get around to eating it. Thor and Loki perch at one of the little café tables, both naked under long, soft, damp t-shirts. The two of them take turns feeding each other forkfuls of food. They eat slowly and sensually. Thor knows this is ending up in bed eventually. Just now he’s fine with waiting.

Loki smiles. “I really like this,” gesturing to include the food, the patio, the two of them together. “It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.” He ducks his head. “I don’t mean to get all sappy on you. It’s just- my life isn’t usually like this.”

Thor stretches across the little table to kiss Loki’s cheekbone. “It is now,” he promises.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talking about tough stuff is... tough.

It’s been a few weeks now since Loki’d let Thor coax him into an evening’s worth of impromptu skinny-dipping. Things haven’t been going badly. If anything, it feels like they’ve made a little bit of progress; while they still stumble together and then apart, bobbing and weaving like boxers in a ring, the lows come less often and pass faster. They haven’t raced ahead, exactly – Loki is still reluctant to be caught shirtless, won’t let Thor look too closely, and acts cornered when that wasn’t Thor’s intent at all – but they also haven’t fallen back this time.

Loki has even stayed over several times. It still isn’t happening regularly, and never for two nights in a row, but at least it seems to be a move in the right direction. Thor likes few things more than waking in the night to find Loki tucked in beside him, warm and peaceful and messy-haired. Well, that, and having the honor of kissing Loki slowly awake come morning. He’d love to be able to start off that way day after day after day, ad infinitum, but nothing good is ever easy. Thor certainly knows that. He’s known it for decades.

He needs to keep being patient, to let Loki reach the same place independently.

Assuming Loki will. Assuming Loki _can_.

Physically, things are - well, they’re great. While two of them still haven’t had honest-to-god penetrative sex – Thor’s not sure if it’s something they’re still working their way up to, no pun intended, or if Loki just isn’t into anal… but he’s okay either way; it’s definitely not a deal-breaker – there has been more lovely fellating and lots of easy closeness.

He knows himself well. He’s falling in love; maybe he’s even there already. When they’re together he’s too busy being happy to think about it, but when he’s alone Thor daydreams about being able to tell Loki how he feels. He hopes there will eventually come a time when he’s confident his own feelings will be well received… and, more than that, are reciprocated.

He expressly _doesn’t_ ask Darcy _or_ Sif for advice on this one.

~

A bird in the tall hedgerow flanking the far side of the waterfall sings and sings. To Thor it feels like several minutes pass before, somewhere way off in the distance, its partner finally answers.

~

“Why me,” Thor asks. He takes a swig of his beer. “Why here?” They’ve been talking in big, looping circles for over an hour now, with Thor asking questions – innocent, friendly, _safe_ questions – and Loki deftly evading them. He’s pretty sure he knows how the bird feels. Felt, at least… it’s gotten its answer.

“What do you mean,” Loki asks, and Thor sighs.

“You came around here for a long time before we actually met,” he tries. “What drew you to this place? What drew you to _me_?”

Loki’s throat works as he tips his head back to swallow the last of his own bottle. “Ahh,” he says in a pleased-sounding tone of voice that abruptly makes whatever game it is he’s playing several degrees more tolerable. “I’ve lived around here a long time,” he says. “You know I’d been coming by the house for a while. Before you bought it, I mean.”

Thor nods. They’d talked about that briefly the first time he’d invited Loki over… for that first lovely tour. He doesn’t say anything, though; he doesn’t want to risk interrupting now that Loki’s actually talking about something- something that could be important and real.

“I was pleased to see someone fixing this place up,” Loki explains. “It- I guess it felt _hopeful_ , the way a person like you could look past all the damage and neglect and see something promising.”

Thor wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Someone like me?”

Loki doesn’t smile, exactly, but the skin at the outer corners of his eyes crinkles. “Someone golden,” he says. “Someone shining and perfect. You could have gone anywhere and done anything, but you came here to bring this property back from its deathbed.” His eyes are huge and just a little bit too shiny. “I liked that. I still do. It spoke to me, I guess you could say.” He laughs. “Assuming you were feeling especially corny.”

It really isn’t corny, though. It’s touching. Thor wants to smother Loki in kisses, or maybe just wrap him in the biggest of hugs and hold him there safe and secure forever.

He smiles. “When I first saw the place, I knew I had to try and save it.”

Loki nods. “You took care of it. Now the two of you take care of one another.” He clears his throat. “Speaking of which, can you pass me a beer?”

Thor does. He lets his fingers linger on the soft underside of Loki’s wrist for a moment. “I love this place,” he says, probably with a little too much feeling. “I can’t imagine life without it.” And then he winces internally, because what if Loki-.

“I love it too,” Loki agrees. Crisis momentarily averted, _thank fucking god_. “It’s comfort. It’s peace. It’s shelter.” He takes two big gulps of beer. “But it wouldn’t be any of that without you.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wo-,” Thor starts, but Loki cuts him off before he can finish.

“No,” Loki says, and out of nowhere he isn’t smiling anymore, “it would still be a moldering wreck full of bird shit and garbage.” His face hardens. “It would. Or maybe just a hole in the ground by now. Most people aren’t like you.”

That’s doubtless true, but the conversation has taken a frightening turn and Thor isn’t sure how to steer it back in the right direction. He reaches out and tucks Loki’s hair behind one ear, quickly, before Loki can catch on to him and twist away. “I do what I can,” he says. “And I can only hope that it’s enough.” Just in case they’re not really talking about the house anymore.

“Do you ever give up on things like this,” Loki asks.

Thor shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly. It’s true. He doesn’t. He takes after his mother that way. It has always driven his father a little crazy. “Never.” He touches Loki’s face. “I don’t give up on people, either.”

Loki looks away. “You gave up on Jane,” he says quietly.

Ugh. “No,” Thor corrects, “I didn’t. I’m _gay_. She’s a woman. Neither of those things was going to be changing any time soon. By which I mean _ever_. Giving up would have been faking it, don’t you think?” There really had been no way around hurting her. He’d hated that about it. More so, he hates that it’s still an issue after all this time.

“Everyone gives up,” Loki says flatly. “Everyone.”

“Not me,” Thor disagrees. “I’m special, remember?” He doesn’t feel special. He feels tired and (unpleasantly far from sober and) sad.

“Hm.” Loki flops backwards into the grass. “I hope so.”

“No,” Thor reminds him, “you _know_ so.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big things get said.

Sif forks up some shredded chicken and dips it in the lake of molé sauce that runs alongside Mount Burrito. "Trouble in paradise," she asks as she waits for a sticky drip of sauce to make its way back to the plate. "You look like someone kicked your puppy."

Thor sets his own utensils down. Who eats tacos with a knife and fork anyway, true, but they're having lunch together in the little courtyard picnic area and his fellow employees don't need to see him licking his fingers and chasing runaway tomato juice up his forearms. He wipes his hands carefully before scrubbing his face with them. "I fucked up," he says quietly. "Loki's pissed. And he should be. I'm giving him a little while to cool down."

Actually, Loki is plenty cool. _Cold_ , even. It’s more that Thor simply isn't sure how to fix this. Deep down he's not even sure it _can_ be fixed, but he's trying hard not to dwell there. "Yes," he says when Sif cocks an eyebrow. "I do know he tends to be a little touchy. But this one- well, it's pretty much all on me."

He waits until her mouth is full before he confesses; it's tough going and he doesn't want to be interrupted. "We were joking around," he says. "At least, I thought we were. I'd said something about how - with an old house - the fun never stops... my cistern is acting weird, the sort of thing that will probably end up turning into _leaking_. So, Loki took a jab at me and my endless projects. He wasn't wrong, which kind of smarted, but I laughed anyway because- well, it’s what I do. I don’t think it was meant as a mean comment."

That's exactly the moment where - distracted a little by his own stinging feelings - he'd missed something crucial; the turning point at which their discussion morphed from joking to serious.

"He asked me what happens when I run out of projects," Thor continues. "I laughed it off and said I'd let him know if it ever happened. So far, so good. But then he said something about wondering if I'd get tired of him if _he_ stopped being a project." Looking back, the main problem is at least in part this: he doesn't _see_ Loki as a project to begin with. Which is probably word for word what he should have said, exactly. "And then I did something really stupid. Without even stopping to think, I blurted out 'I don't think we need to worry about _that_ ever happening.' I’m such an ass. It was awful."

"Nice witty comeback," Sif says. "Except for the whole thing about _knowing your audience_."

Thor thinks he knows this audience reasonably well. He groans. "Yeah, I instantly clapped my hands over my mouth and started babbling sorry sorry sorry. It didn't make any difference. He'd already flipped his plate onto the grass and was halfway to the driveway."

"So you ran after him," Sif prompts.

Of course. "As fast as I could," he assures her. "But that didn't help either. He told me to go fuck myself and all but slammed the car door on my fingers. And then he floored it and backed out in a giant cloud of dust and gravel. He was practically on two wheels when he disappeared over the hill towards Sherman's." Thor's shaking again, just thinking about it. "He's ignoring my calls and texts. I guess he hates me." He gets that; after all, right now he hates _himself_ a little.

"But you know he's not dead in a ditch," she says. "And don't look at me like that. You and I go way back; don't think I don't know all 32 variations of _Thor, frantic_."

He looks down at his half-eaten lunch. "Yeah," he admits. "I did drive by there, to make sure he'd gotten home okay. His car was right where it always is." Thor skips telling her how it was parked seriously, uncharacteristically crooked. He doesn't need her feeding his fears, not just now. "But I didn't stop. I think maybe he needs a little space."

Sif's forehead wrinkles. "Maybe, maybe not. But he _does_ need to learn that it's what he's going to get when he asks for it."

Thor isn't quite sure what she's getting at. He says so.

"You're not a mind-reader," she explains. "Loki needs to learn that, when he wants reassurance and support, he won't get them by running around screaming 'leave me alone' constantly. You know?"

 _Shit_.

"You think that's what he's doing?" Mentally, Thor kicks himself.

Sif shrugs. "From what you've told me, it seems like he really wants to be sure you’ll still love him when he's being awfully prickly."

"Of course I do," Thor exclaims without thinking. "I love him whatever he's doing."

She smiles a funny little half-smile. "Tell him, then," she suggests, "not me."

~

"Have you talked to Loki," Thor asks Darcy after lunch. He's in one of the westernmost conference rooms, the one with the big windows, with the door locked. The sun is pouring in but he doesn't feel better.

She sighs. "We've exchanged emails," she says. "I know better than to talk to him real-time when he's gotten himself into a tizzy."

"So he's okay, then."

"He's a little bent out of shape," she tells him. "But, yeah, he's okay. The way I think you're asking, I mean." She snorts. "It's been a couple of days? Whatever crap's all over the table won't yet have crossed over from _toxic_ into _rotting_.”

"Oh god," Thor says. He can still picture the wreckage of Loki's dining room from last time. "You don't think he's doing that again, do you?"

"He still hasn't figured out a great way to ask for help," she offers. "So when things go awry we do tend to see Loki the Martyr."

Thor thinks about what Sif'd said earlier. He _wants_ to help, more than anything, but not in a way that ends up being hurtful. "How long do I need to let him cool down, do you think? And should I stop by or invite him over?"

“Hm,” she starts. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, starting from the beginning?”

Explaining what he did isn't quite as awful the second time through, probably at least in part because Darcy's not sitting here in front of him.

"Everyone in his life has abandoned him eventually," she says once he’s brought her up to date. "Except me, and you. Oh, and one he had to run away from. I'm pretty sure _that_ shouldn't count."

Thor doesn't think it should either.

"So, anyway..." - she sighs - "you're going to have to get used to this particular worry. He's not rational about it. I'm not sure he even can be."

~

Thor leaves work a few minutes early, to beat the rush. He needs good chocolate chips, for brownies. Because who can stay sad (let alone angry) over really good brownies?

~

It's a good thing, in the end, that it was chips he needed and not oil... because Thor drops everything he's carrying when he comes around the side of the house to find Loki perched - clutching a big double-handful of queen anne's lace – on one end of the porch swing.

“Oh god,” Thor breathes. He’s never been so glad to see anyone, ever. “I love you.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, tension.

Loki can’t quite believe his ears. He shakes his head (just a little, so it doesn’t fly off his neck and bounce away across the porch) and blinks twice. No, he’s not imagining things: Thor is still standing at the bottom of the steps, grocery bag abandoned on the slate. “You what,” Loki asks, because this simply can’t be happening. Not after the week they’ve had, and the way they’d parted… not after he’d cursed and snarled and run away like a cornered cat. “What did you just say?”

“ _Thank god_ ,” Thor repeats solemnly, “because right this second I think I’m going to, and _I love you_.”

“You do,” Loki says, which may be the stupidest, worst response ever. “I mean,” he tries again, “seriously?” _Just fucking stop talking_ , he orders himself. Just how deep can this hole get, really?

Thor nods. He isn’t smiling, and he isn’t moving. If anything, he looks a bit like he might puke. “Yes,” he says. “I do, seriously. And I know that probably wasn’t the best way or time to break it to you. I guess my mouth got the better of me.”

Loki knows how _that_ works. His own mouth gets the better of him more often than it behaves, actually. He blinks again, and tries to swallow. Just now that uncooperative mouth of his is hopelessly dry. “These are for you,” he barely manages, holding out the flowers. “I hope you like them.” He does swallow this time. They’re all along the edges of the fields this time of year, but he’d been careful to cut this batch close to Thor’s property. It’s hot; even though the things don’t wilt easily, he’d wanted them to make it here in perfect condition. “Do you know what they mean,” he forges bravely on. “What they stand for?”

“A safe place,” Thor says. His eyes narrow, and Loki tenses. “A sanctuary, or something which gives sanctuary. Is that what you meant?”

It is. It sounds borderline ridiculous laid out like that, though. Loki keeps his lips firmly pressed together for once and just nods.

“Me,” Thor asks him flatly, “or the house?”

“Yes,” Loki says. He’s starting to feel more than a little panicky, partly at his own sentimental idiocy and partly at Thor’s strange reaction. “Both, I mean. You’re both- safe and lovely. That’s- kind of gross, isn’t it?”

“No,” Thor says. “It’s nice.” He takes a deep breath, one that swells his impressive chest and straightens his shoulders. “Thank you. Um, I was going to make you some brownies,” he goes on, “since I figured you were still upset with me. Would you like to come hang out inside while I get them started, or do you need to get going?”

It’s Friday evening and there is no place he would rather be. If things are okay, that is. If they’re not, he’s- lost at sea, probably? Loki pushes carefully up off the swing, steadying himself with one elbow. Thor flinches. It _hurts_ ; he feels abruptly, overwhelmingly _awful_. _Guilty_. “Don’t look like that,” he pleads. “I want to stay. I’ve missed you so much. Please? I’m sorry.” He clutches the flowers a little more tightly to hide the way his hands are shaking.

Thor’s stiff posture shifts – relaxes, almost – a little. He’s still not smiling as he squats to pick up the grocery bag. “I’ve missed you too. Here, let me get the door.” His keys rattle against the lock plate. “After you,” he offers, pushing the door open. “I’ll get a vase.”

~

“This should work,” Thor says from just inside the doorway of the butler’s pantry. He holds out what might just be the biggest cut crystal vase Loki’s ever seen. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” Loki says, with reverence. The thing is amazing. He’s awed.

Thor finally smiles, although not the way Loki’s used to. “It is,” he agrees, looking the vase over. “It belonged to my mother.” He holds it steady as Loki carefully slides the flowers in, and then turns on the water in the small pantry sink. “Go ahead,” he offers, squeezing up against the counter to make room as Loki stands there feeling lost. “Wash your hands.”

They’re dirty. Loki does. When he’s done, Thor switches to cold water and fills the vase halfway.

It’s the perfect size and shape, and the flowers look lovely. They don’t look like roadside weeds at all.

“Thank you,” Thor says again. “Excuse me.”

Everything about this is wrong and strained and not at all what Loki’d imagined. He steps aside and lets Thor lead the way back into the kitchen. “Are you sure you want me to stay,” he asks Thor’s back, his own heart hammering. “Because if you don’t-.”

Thor stops. He doesn’t turn around. “I do. It’s just-.” His hands close into fists, briefly; he shakes them out. “Um, never mind that. I do. Come on, let’s get the brownies going.”

“I love you too, you know,” Loki whispers. He shuts his eyes against a powerful rush of vertigo.

When he opens them again, Thor is standing right in front of him and studying his face carefully. “Are you just saying that,” Thor asks, equally softly, “because you think you’re supposed to?”

He’s not. Loki knows he’s loved Thor for weeks now, probably more; it’s just something he’s pretty much never comfortable admitting. After all these years, he still doesn’t feel good handing anyone anything that could potentially be used as a weapon. He opens his mouth, twice.

Nothing comes out of it.

“Loki,” Thor asks.

“No,” Loki says, because he has to. “I said it because I meant it. _Mean_ it.” He looks away. Thor’s expression is too intense; he isn’t sure he can handle it. “I’ve loved you for a while. I just suck at this… so, so badly.” He struggles against the pressure as Thor catches his chin. “You really shou- _mmph_!”

Thor’s mouth on his is warm and gentle. Safe. Forgiving. And then Thor’s lips part and Loki feels the hot slide of Thor’s tongue along his own bottom lip. “Nn,” he moans, and that should be uncomfortable too. Except kissing Thor feels so good that Loki quickly loses sight of how he’s been feeling tense and embarrassed and awkward.

He quickly loses sight of everything.

~

“Hey,” Thor says into his hair when Loki finally has to take a break and breathe. “I’m sorry. I’ve had so much going through my head this week.”

Loki laughs into the meat of Thor’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, “me too.” He wipes his mouth on Thor’s shirt. “Darcy told me earlier that I need to stop this shit,” he confesses. “’No one is infinitely patient,’ she said. ‘If you keep this up, one day he won’t be there anymore when you need him.’ And I don’t want that. I really, really don’t.”

Thor nuzzles Loki’s hair. “She’s full of good advice,” he agrees. “But I promise you this: No matter what you do, I will always do my best to be there when you need- when you _want_ me to.”

“Still,” Loki protests, because he can’t just accept being let off the hook this easily, “I could be a lot nicer.”

“Yeah,” Thor says, “some days that might be true.” He pushes back and takes Loki’s face between his big, warm palms. “But you know what? I like your sass. Mostly. And baby?” He kisses Loki’s forehead and Loki _melts_. “We’ll get through it.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes baking doesn't work out quite as intended. Or, it does... but getting there means taking the long way 'round.

Thor slumps back against the cabinet front, hands carefully held out away from- from everything. He would be laughing, except for how he’s having a little trouble catching his breath. Loki has collapsed backwards between his legs, arms outstretched - Loki's hands are, comparatively speaking, pristine - and ribs heaving like a set of bellows. "Holy shit," Thor breathes. "I just- holy shit."

Loki halfheartedly tries to prop himself up and then collapses again with a solid thunk. "Somehow," he pants, "that- didn't seem- very sanitary."

"Probably not," Thor agrees. Once he can stand again, if that ever happens, he should go wash his hands in the bathroom. "But you know what? I really can't say I'm complaining."

"Oh, no," Loki agrees. "Me neither. Do you need some paper towels," he asks as a big blob of semen - whose, there's really no way to know for sure - hits the floor and splatters. He shifts again, weakly. "On second thought, no. Forget I mentioned it."

They both sit (okay, mostly _lie_ ) silent and motionless for well over a minute before Loki disturbs the peace by giggling. "Who knew vegetable shortening was so _versatile_?"

Thor doesn't say "oh, you'd be surprised," because (after where the second and third fingers of his left hand have just been) odds are good any further application _wouldn't_ be particularly surprising. That and, until they've talked more about Loki's preferences, he doesn't want to come across as a jerk about- well, anything. "It's nice and slick," he agrees instead. "Definitely handy for more than just baking."

"Handy." Loki snorts. "Nice pun." He shifts again, this time finally getting both his hands underneath him. He gets slowly and clumsily to his feet, cargo shorts pooled around one ankle. He’s not wearing any underwear, which – now that Thor thinks about it; he had been too busy earlier to notice – is probably kind of interesting. "Good thing you let me take that off," Loki says, prodding Thor's crumpled-up shirt with a toe. "You really got the worst of it."

Thor looks up at Loki's own t-shirt, which is badly wrinkled around the left hemline but only sporting a couple of tiny wet stains across its front, and then down at his own sweaty, ejaculate-soaked midsection. "About those paper towels," he nudges and Loki half-shrugs. "Oh no no,” Thor protests. “The sooner I get cleaned up, the sooner you’ll have your brownies."

~

The two of them really had tried. They'd gotten everything they needed out of the pantry, drawers, and fridge. Thor had cut the dry ingredients together in a deep stainless steel bowl while Loki had measured the liquids. All business, no hanky-panky. Even taking turns feeding one another chocolate chips - half-melted and smeary courtesy of their own warm fingers - hadn't seriously derailed them.

No, it really wasn't until Thor had scooped out a handful (with a _spoon_ ; even in his own house he's practically classy) of shortening and started greasing the baking pan with it that (they'd started making out again, hard, and) Loki had offered up one idle comment about the stuff being so nicely cool and slippery.

That’s what had done it.

Thor's hands had already been a mess by that point. He'd curled them into loose fists to protect his own clothing from the grease, then let Loki peel his shirt off over his head and lower his shorts gently - "careful; my phone!" - to the floor.

They'd ended up down there themselves not long afterwards, Thor with his legs crossed at the ankles and Loki straddling his lap. Loki had rocked forward to press their hips together and given Thor the perfect opportunity to take them both in one well-lubed hand. He’d cheerfully jerked the two of them off together.

Which was nice. Very, very nice, so much so that Loki'd ended up whimpering all but nonstop and he'd lost his own powers of speech completely.

Still, they were left with a problem: Thor’s other hand was a slick mess too, and there wasn't anywhere convenient to put it.

Except, well, in the hot, furred gap between Loki's firm-muscled buttocks.

Thor hadn't asked first, so he hadn't pressured; he’d just let his fingers glide here and there while he tried his best to focus on Loki's body language. And once Loki'd shoved off his chest with both hands and bucked right onto his middle finger, well, Thor didn't figure he'd have much trouble with interpretation.

Yeah, he hadn't. No trouble whatsoever.

~

Thor takes the ball of paper towels Loki’s offering and wipes up the worst of the mess, starting with his right hand and saving his left until everything else is finished. He offers up an elbow and lets Loki’s tugging help him struggle back up to standing. "Bathroom," he reminds, laughing again. Something drips onto his foot. "Both of us, because I need you to turn on the water."

Loki snorts. "What did you do as a teenager?"

"It was mom and dad's kitchen then," Thor teased. "I didn't really care how invisibly gross I made it."

~

One thing shortening _doesn’t_ do is wash off easily, from hands or from sinks. Still, it’s worth it.

~

Thor throws Loki’s shirt into the laundry, along with a few odds and ends of his own. He lets Loki borrow one of his old, soft t-shirts, the ones that are perfect for sleeping. It’s practically a dress, and the neckline hangs way off one shoulder; Thor doesn’t say anything about the scars he can see, but he does kiss Loki’s naked shoulder blade in warning.

“I know,” Loki whispers. He lets his head fall back against Thor’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I feel safe here.”

“Good,” Thor says. He keeps the 15,000 other thoughts crowding his head to himself. “How would you like to feel safe and full of brownies?”

Loki licks his ear; Thor shivers. “I’d like that very, very much.”

~

All things considered, the brownies are delicious. It’s late – really late – by the time they’re out of the oven and cooled down enough to cut, but Loki’s staying over anyway. In other words, it doesn’t pose much of a problem.

Loki and Thor take turns feeding one another chunks of warm chocolate until they’re stuffed too full to continue.

All in all, it’s quite an evening. When Thor takes Loki by the hand and leads him upstairs to the master bedroom, he’s really not sure life could get any better.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More about scars, and comfort.
> 
> \------
> 
> NOTE: I'm going to be out of town until early next week, which probably means I'll work some on _Arranged_. Good for the Arranged fans, not so awesome for this. :)
> 
> I'll be back at this next week sometime.

It's late when Thor wakes, much later than usual. Of course (all that stress, plus) having stayed up half the night is probably a factor. He rubs his eyes. It's a sunny day again, but the air is thick and hazy. Everything glows.

There's no strong light anywhere.

Loki is sound asleep in the middle of the bed, covers down around his calves and pert behind rolled a little to one side. Everything – every millimeter of pale skin - from the tops of his achilles tendons to the tangled black curls at the nape of his neck is- completely exposed.

This is the first really long look Thor's had at Loki’s scars, the ones on his back anyway. Sitting here staring feels- wrong, like breaking the rules or breaking a promise. But they'd gone to bed completely sober and stark fucking naked, on a very warm night. It's not like Loki wouldn’t have known that something of this sort was bound to happen.

So Thor looks. And looks. He can’t not, really. Everything about this is both horrifying and fascinating.

It’s a bit like carefully laid oil paint on fine canvas. Loki's entire back - from the ridges that cross near the top of his shoulder blades to the upper rim of his pelvis – sports a veritable maze of long-healed scars. They're old, old enough that their ridges and lines are whiter even than the surrounding tissue. The only hints of pink, other than the startling softness of the dimples at the base of Loki's spine, are a few marks accidentally inflicted during last night's festivities.

Whatever Loki’s scars might signify, they're not simply conventional injuries... not burns, not the sort of random jigsaw lacerations a person gets flying through a sliding glass door. Not, as Thor’d originally thought, whip marks.

Rather, they're the kind of delicately raised marks that come hand-in-hand with- with rituals. With self-injury. Kink. Creepy kidnapped-by-a-psycho stories. Loki’s scars form a distinct (and distinctive) pattern: long, unbroken tribal-looking lines along bony prominences, little dots and whorls across the spaces in between. The same scars circle his arms just at the bottoms of his deltoids, like the close-fitting sleeves of an off-the-shoulder top, and curl along his ribs to disappear in the shadows that hide the front of his torso. 

Down the side of his uppermost hip, there's a string of- of, well, they look like runes.

Thor shivers.

It's painstaking work, perfect and neat. The kind that takes a skilled, steady hand to carve and weeks of careful, terrible maintenance work to render it so- so very indelible. None of this is Thor's thing, really. It’s not now, and it never has been. IT Security draws a younger, hipper crowd, though, and in the locker rooms at work he's seen enough scarification to recognize a professional job when he sees one.

He shivers again, hard enough to jiggle the mattress this time.

Loki groans and rolls a little flatter onto his belly.

Thor hitches himself back, slowly, to take a look at the newly-exposed strip of skin along Loki’s nearer side. Sure enough, Loki sports runes on that hip, too… and over top of them a fan-shaped array of pinkish-red wrinkles (custom-made in the past few minutes, courtesy of their rumpled bedding).

He lowers himself all the way back down until he’s lying stretched out on his side and then pulls Loki to his chest. If he's not vigilant, Thor knows, he's going to find himself crying.

So, yeah, it’s still not his thing… but, under different circumstances, Loki's markings would be (if not frankly _beautiful_ , and perhaps they are, at least) _compelling_.

Under _any_ circumstances, really, they're compelling. They're bold and dramatic and they tell the story of someone immensely tough.

And Loki _is_ tough, surprisingly so... but he's also terrifyingly fragile. And whatever the scars mean to him, they clearly don't sit easily.

So.

Thor sighs, softly.

Now what?

It's not like he can give Loki a warm morning kiss and start the day (what’s left of it, at least) off with a bright, chipper "hey, those scars of yours aren't nearly as bad as you’ve said they are... they're kind of pretty, actually."

But by pretending the marks aren’t there at all he- it feels like the worst sort of lying.

Loki shifts again. He nudges back against Thor this time, evaporating sweat leaving his skin almost cool where it presses into Thor's chest and belly.

Thor buries his face in Loki’s hair. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love everything about you.” He shuts his eyes tightly and pretends there isn’t a tear trickling over the bridge of his nose to drip down into Loki’s curls.

“Nn,” Loki purrs.

And then he stiffens, his body tensing so quickly that one heel catches Thor sharply in the shin.

“Shh,” Thor soothes, biting his own lip against the pain in his leg. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe with me.” He runs his fingers lightly up Loki’s chest, his fingers skipping along the scars there. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He kisses along Loki’s shoulder, from neck to upper arm. “Do you want me to cover you?”

Loki shrugs. It’s a small, calculated motion, not nearly enough to knock Thor away. “Do you think I’m disgusting?”

“What? No,” Thor exclaims. “I think you’re beautiful.” He stops and reconsiders. “Your scars bother me because they bother you. If it wasn’t for that – if having them wasn’t upsetting to you, I mean – I think I would be fine with them.” He kisses Loki’s shoulder again, this time back in towards the middle. “Actually, I know I would be. But I don’t like how badly they get to you.”

“They remind me of things I’d rather forget,” Loki says quietly. He buries his face in his pillow. “I’ve never let anyone else see them.”

“Well, then,” Thor says, and he means it: “I’m honored.”

“You’re not like everyone else,” Loki says, and than bursts out laughing. “Jesus, don’t listen to me. Holy sappy shit. Okay, I’m awake now.” He wriggles. “Sorry. Back to the meaner, cooler Loki you know and, er, love.”

Thor scoops him up and hugs him tightly around the middle. “Too late. I know your secret.”

Loki twists to kiss Thor full on the mouth. “Yeah, no,” he says, in a tone Thor can’t read. “You don’t know the half of it.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff as metaphor, or proxy...

Bit by bit, Loki- well, it's not so much _moves_ as _settles_ in. Not that moving in would be a problem, at least not to Thor’s way of thinking. They don't talk about any of it, not even indirectly, but he smiles to himself every time he discovers that another bit of Loki's life has crept into his house somewhere.

All he can think is that the extra toothbrush he'd bought a few weeks ago, back when Loki'd first started sticking around overnight more often, had served as a sort of seed crystal. Shortly thereafter, a tube of toothpaste Thor'd never seen before - an all-natural cruelty-free brand that isn't available locally, even at the cooperative downtown - had appeared in the medicine cabinet, followed a few days later by its companion mouthwash

Now there's minty-herbal shampoo on the brass toiletries rack, in a blue-green hard plastic bottle that's marked only with a small, stylized white flower. Thor hasn’t tried it, because it isn't his and he hasn't quite dared to ask about using it (and his own wavy mop likes what he's got on hand already...), but he opens the pretty bottle and sniffs deeply every time he's (alone) in the bathroom. The stuff is delicious. He quickly learns to pick it out among the many scents – other shampoos, conditioner, product, bromine and chlorine from the pool, the ever-present faintly-musky essence of _Loki_ himself - in Loki's hair. Finding it there pleases him greatly.

A little jar - wide-mouthed, topped with a domed, threaded glass lid that matches its scoop and sealed with a silicone gasket – has appeared in the top drawer of the bedside table. Its contents are golden and sweet-scented like citrus blossom honey but lastingly slick like shortening. Also rather like shortening, it tastes the same as it smells... but in this case that means it tastes reminiscent of homemade candy, rather than tasting like- nothing.

Penises that taste like candy are lovely. Candy-laced rimjobs are even better.

Back in the bathroom, Loki's straight razor has materialized in the glass-fronted wooden cabinet by the sink, along with a shaving mug (that has its own coaster, which is a nice and appreciated gesture; not thanking Loki that time is difficult, despite how doing so would break the unspoken rules badly), a soft brush, and a little stack of shaving soaps. The soaps themselves smell faintly of lemon.

The razor does take a little getting used to, given Loki's scars, but even then Thor says nothing. After all, his problems don't need to be Loki's problems.

Over time random books and magazines show up- everywhere. Thor's heard that writers tend to be voracious readers; clearly _his_ writer is no exception. Before long there are interesting works of short fiction in the parlor. Poems in the bedroom. Journals and trade rags in the kitchen. Glossy high-end home-decorating magazines in the warm little paneled room towards the back of the house that serves as- as a den. It seems silly to call it a man cave, so Thor doesn’t.

One day, after Loki stays most of the weekend, there's an Apple charger and cord in a neat woven basket in the dining room. It's slipped unobtrusively into the china cabinet, hidden so well that Thor almost doesn't notice it.

The rollerball-applicator-tipped white tube of scar-diminishing serum tucked neatly into the bathroom cabinet next to the shaving supplies, though, catches Thor off guard and makes him cry.

Not long after that, in a more cheerful turn of events, the clothes start appearing. Thor makes a silent game of it: every few days he clears a small spot in a new location. First, he leaves ten nice satin hangers in the big armoire, along with five padded slacks hangers, and watches as they fill up one by one.

Next he clears an empty spot in his underwear drawer; a week later it's sporting a few soft cotton boxers. After that come silky black boxer-briefs he'd love to see in action. A few days later - last but by no means least - they’re joined by two delicate thongs… one so dark green it’s nearly iridescent black, like a mallard duck’s head, the other a pale shell pink that must match Loki’s skin almost perfectly.

Two extra sets of cedar shoetrees, as long as Thor’s but narrower, attract a pair of soft black loafers and some gorgeous engineer boots. Both pairs smell richly of leather and oil. He feels extremely fortunate not to have been caught determining that, actually.

Over the course of two weeks free space in his t-shirt drawer fills with an airy-soft stack of the lightweight long-sleeved t-shirts Loki favors. Most are muted shades of charcoal grey and faded black, but one is the same barely-there pink as- as that pair of underwear Thor just can’t stop thinking about. Another is a rich blue reminiscent of the ice floes he saw off the coast of Maine during some long-ago (and mostly forgotten) vacation.

He searches for weeks for the perfect sachet for that particular drawer, finally settling on a rounded pillow that smells of mint and rich, dark chocolate.

When Loki starts smelling of lovely mint-infused cocoa, Thor quickly finds he can’t keep his hands _or_ his mouth to himself. Fortunately, Loki doesn’t seem the least bit bothered.

~

Thor cries again when he opens his jewelry case – an Art Deco masterpiece that doesn’t really fit in with the décor, but had been his mother’s and will be forever welcome wherever he might go – one morning and finds a tiny rune-engraved hammer (Mjolnir… he’s been reading up on his mythology) nestled there.

He wears it the next time Loki’s over.

Loki stretches forward from the chair where he’s sitting, quietly enjoying a glass of wine as Thor grills, and kisses the little thing (and Thor’s chest along with it) reverently. When he looks up, his own black lashes are clumped and wet with tears.

~

After what Thor quickly comes to think of as _hammer night_ , he decides to go out on a limb and say something. It’s been a wonderful game, it has, but he’s nearly out of moves.

“I love how your stuff is moving in bit by bit,” he tells Loki over cheese and olives. “It makes me happy. Really happy.” _You’re welcome to join it_ , he wants to say, but he still doesn’t know the half of Loki’s story. The very last thing he has any interest in doing is applying pressure in any way that might be unwelcome.

Loki pops an olive in his mouth and chases it with a good-sized swallow of wine. “Mm,” he says. “That’s good, because my stuff is happy here.”

“Just tell me what needs to be washed cold or delicate,” Thor offers, “and I’d be glad to see it make itself comfortable in the hamper, too.”

“Or you could introduce me to your washer and dryer,” Loki suggests, “and I could actually make myself useful.”

“You just want to see my underwear,” Thor teases. He isn’t sure whether or not he likes the thought of Loki wanting (needing?) to work off a debt.

“Mm,” Loki agrees, nodding. “Because you would never, ever paw through mine. Hah, busted,” he exclaims with a sharp smirk as Thor’s face heats. “See anything to your liking?”

Thor reaches out to cup Loki’s chin in one hand. He feeds Loki a sliver of cheese with the other. “Yes,” he admits, “now that you mention it, I did.”

Loki reaches up to lace his fingers into Thor’s. Even on a warm evening, his fingertips are just this side of chilly. “Maybe I’ll have to model them for you, then,” he says softly. “Would you like that?”

Would he ever. All Thor can do is (blush, and) grin.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talking is one of those things which gets easier with practice.

They’ve somehow landed themselves the coveted corner table, the one over by the arbor at the far edge of the courtyard. It’s surrounded by greenery and backed by a tiny garden waterfall; the location is so quiet that, as long as you don’t look around too carefully, you and one other lucky lunch-goer can actually forget you’re at work for your lunch hour in its entirety. Most of the time neither Thor nor Sif makes it outside early enough to have a shot at such prime seating, but they’re coming up on the holiday weekend and it feels like three quarters of the office is gone already. _Whatever_ , Thor thinks; he’ll take it.

Sif unwraps the pair of steaming fish tacos she just bought from the food truck out front, while Thor carefully unpacks the bento box he’d packed himself early this morning. He isn’t good enough at making sushi to want to show any of it off in public – although he and Loki have talked about maybe taking a class or two, if they can find a reasonably private place to do so – but he’s filled his box with thin slices of last night’s seared ahi, along with big servings of stir-fried vegetables and delicate rice noodles. He’s even got a few lumps of wasabi, strong enough his sinuses are already burning.

“What a spread. It looks delicious,” Sif tells him as she licks a bit of spicy sauce off her pinky. Thor smiles to himself, briefly considering just how differently he’d be responding to that particular little maneuver if Loki’s tongue happened to be the one doing it.

“Oh, it is,” he says, smiling more broadly. “Nothing but nothing beats tuna.”

Both of them are starving. They eat in relative silence for several minutes, until Sif is nearly halfway through her second taco and Thor’s made a serious dent in his vegetables. Sif sets the remains of her lunch down, licks each of her fingers in quick succession, and sighs. “Why don’t you just _ask_ him about it,” she suggests. “Surely by now he knows you well enough not to go completely ballistic.”

Thor doesn’t bother trying to stall for time by asking what she means; he knows better. He’d mentioned earlier in the week that he’d been giving a lot of thought to formally asking Loki to move in with him – Loki could put his own place on the market, or use it as an office, whichever felt best – and Sif had met his (unspoken) question with one of her own.

“Has he told you what happened yet,” she’d asked. “About the scars, I mean.” As if Thor somehow hadn’t known where she was headed. “Because if the two of you still haven’t been able to talk your way through any of that… well, I can’t help but wonder if you’re actually ready.”

“I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other,” he’d huffed. “It’s not like my place has a secret dungeon.” Over time he’s determined that it’s easiest to think of Loki’s marks as the leftovers of some kind of _play_. It may even be true. Sure, it also may not be. It’s just- this way he can look past the whole thing without it really getting to him. Not that he _gets_ it, not in the deep visceral sense that _kink_ implies, but thinking about Loki’s marks as something delivered in love (long since gone wrong, evidently) is much less disturbing to him than are any of the alternatives.

“And I don’t see what difference his past life makes, either,” Thor grumbles. He knows he sounds defensive. He feels cornered, even though Sif is being perfectly polite. Gentle, reasonable. “Loki has a good job now, and has for years. He owns his own home. He has a car and an editor. It’s not like he’s only looking to freeload.”

“Whoa,” Sif says, waving her hands in the space between them. “Wasn’t even going there, honest. I don’t think Loki wants to hurt you, my friend. It’s just- in the end, for things to work out nicely, the two of you need to be able to talk about the Really. Big. Things.” She punctuates the last bit with one index finger, on the tabletop. “You know you would tell me the same thing, don’t you?”

He does. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he kids, trying to lighten things back up a little. She really is right, and he knows it. That doesn’t mean they have to dwell on the whole business, though. Au contraire.

“Only to you, baby,” she responds, winking at him. “Only to you.”

Thor grins. “Riiight,” he tells her. “I’m sure _all_ your other friends would agree with you on that one.”

~

“Did you enjoy these,” he asks Loki as they’re making dinner. “Your marks, I mean” – he kisses one bare shoulder for emphasis – “back when you got them?” Thor isn’t quite sure what to hope. On one hand, anything else is almost too awful to comprehend; on the other, though, if this is somehow still what Loki’s into… well, it’s way, way outside his comfort zone. Mostly, Thor supposes, he hopes Loki won’t bolt because he’s deigned to broach the topic. “I only- I wonder sometimes,” he adds, when Loki just stands there quietly. “We don’t have to talk about it if-.”

Loki sucks in a huge breath and lets it out in a long, high-pitched whistle. “No,” he says, “it’s okay. I suppose we do have to talk about it sometime.”

“No,” Thor reminds him, feeling guilty now. “We don’t, actually.”

“It’s fine,” Loki soothes, like Thor is the one with the tricky history. He sets his knife down, next to a stack of onion sliced so thin that each piece is _barely there_ at all, and turns to shush Thor with two cool fingers. “You’ve been very patient. And it really is okay.” He leans in and replaces his fingers with (much warmer) lips, briefly. “Maybe letting someone else in will help, even. Darcy always says it will.”

“And Darcy knows all, does she,” Thor murmurs against the bridge of Loki’s nose. “I thought that was just an ugly rumor.”

“Never, _ever_ let her hear you say you doubt it,” Loki admonishes. “She eats men like you for supper.” He swallows loudly. “But as much more comfortable as joking around may be, it doesn’t answer your question, does it?”

It doesn’t, Thor supposes. He very, very carefully shakes his head.

“Uh- I told myself I did, at the time. Like it, I mean,” Loki clarifies. “I wanted to be tough. I wanted to be cool. But really? I was in way over my head,” he admits. “I was making shitty, shitty- um, all the wrong choices.”

“Hm” is the best Thor can do. His mind spins frantically; Loki can probably all but hear the whirring.

“I haven’t always had the best taste in- friends,” Loki says with a wan little smile. He looks down at Thor’s chest, then back up. “You know, back before I swore off people entirely.”

Thor figures he should probably be happy – consensual marks, and yet nothing Loki wants repeated - but something lost in Loki’s expression _hurts_ and leaves him on the verge of tears instead. He wipes his own hands carefully on his apron and pulls Loki close for a warm hug. “Eh,” he says softly. “Taken collectively, at least, I’ve found people to be vastly overrated.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all it takes is a phone call to pull the rug right out from under you.

"Of course. Where are you?" Darcy's voice sounds tinny and hollow; from this particular payphone she's almost unrecognizable. Loki can only hope for the same; he's shaking so badly his teeth are chattering.

_Pull yourself together, you stupid fuckhead_ , he orders himself. "At the minimart j-just off E-elm," he tells her. "At the phone inside, by the big cooler."

"MunchiesPhone," she squeals. "Um, right. Yeah. Flashback. Sorry. I'll be there in ten, fifteen at the outside. Loki?"

"Mm?" The cashier is watching him now, in the wide-angle mirror. He tries to look normal, knowing in every fiber of his being that he's failing.

"Where's your cell phone, sweetness?"

Loki cups one hand over the dirty mouthpiece. Old habits and all that. "In my car."

"...which is," she prompts.

He thinks he got it parked, even. He's a whole lot less sure he locked it. "A couple of blocks from my place," he tells her. "I-I think I was near the library."

Darcy groans. "Please tell me it's not running in the middle of the road somewhere."

He's not sure how much longer he can do this. He’s hot and sweaty and dizzy; his legs are like so much rubber. "No, I parked it. Don't go looking for it," he tells her, tone sharp. “It’s not safe.”

"Um, duh," she says. "Once I get you sorted I'll call 9-1-1. Now stay put. I'm driving. I need to hang up before I earn myself a ticket."

Loki carefully sets the handset back in its chipped, chrome-plated cradle. "Someone's coming for me," he near-silently mouths into the mirror. "I'll just wait here."

"If you're on drugs you'll hafta leave," the guy calls out. Loki flinches, even though it's not like there's anyone else in the store.

"I'm not," he says, out loud this time. "I promise." He shudders. "I just need a ride. My friend will be here any minute now."

"Can't you wait outside?"

"No?" He means it as exclamation but it comes out like a question.

The cashier looks Loki up and down and sighs, loudly. "Then you gotta buy something. Rules, man," he says, gesturing with one thumb to the red and white sign on the wall behind the counter; the one under the big rack of cigarettes. "No. Loitering."

Loki roots around in his pockets. At least he has his wallet. He makes himself sidle up to the counter and grab a fruit roll-up out of the smudged jar. "Do the rules say I have to _eat_ it," he asks. If he smirks hard enough, maybe it won't look quite so much like he's having a seizure.

"Uh, no," the cashier admits. Up close, he's just a kid. Late teens, maybe, with crooked teeth and more than a smattering of acne. "Just- no no, stay where I can see you."

~

Loki is still standing by the register clutching his rather limp roll-up when the door chimes and Darcy bounces across the threshold. "Mm," she hums. "Slurpees! Oh, right," she adds, looking closely at Loki. "Come on, let's get you outta here."

~

It's past dusk, heading towards real darkness. "Thor is going to be worried," Loki tells her. "I told him earlier that I'd be there right after work." His stomach lurches. "He's probably been trying my phone, too. What if he-?" If Thor goes to his place, there's no telling _what_ might happen.

"We should call your golden boy-toy," Darcy agrees. Loki lets the little slam go; he’s too keyed up to argue, and she never means anything by her comments anyway. She offers her phone to him across a center console littered with empty coffee cups and more than a few sticky stirrers.

He recoils and smacks his head hard on the grab handle, bad enough to rock the car. "I ca-a-an't," he half-sobs. Holy hell, that hurt. Hurts. "I- I h-hav- he d-doesn't kno-o-ow."

"Sh-sh," she shushes gently. "Don’t hurt yourself! I can just tell him your car died or whatever."

Loki is- he's stuck. He can't lie and he can't tell the truth and he can't simply sit here and do nothing. He collapses in a not nearly small enough heap over his own knees and starts rocking, ignoring the paper cups as they scatter.

"We have to tell Thor _something_ ," she insists, which probably _is_ true. Thor is persistent, and concerned. "How 'bout I just let him know you’re busy for a few minutes... he should stay put and you'll call him a little later?"

"And when- _if_ I can't," he corrects himself. “What then?”

"Then we'll deal with it." She slides her phone just out from underneath his hair and scrolls one-handed through her contacts. "And kiddo?"

"Mm?"

"Can you _try_ not to mess up this shitheap any worse than it is already? Pretty, pretty please?"

He straightens up and scrambles for a retort, but the words won’t come. It’s pointless anyway; she's already calling. "Hi," she says brightly as Thor answers. "It seems our friend Loki ran into a little snag or something. Mm. Just a second, let me check.” _He wants to talk to you_ , she mouths, holding the phone out to him. _He wants to be sure you’re okay_.

If there’s anything Loki isn’t just now, it’s okay. He flaps both hands at her, violently.

_Come on_ , she barely whispers. _Just say hi or something_.

In the space between them Loki can hear Thor half-yelling into the phone: “Hello? Hello? Did this thing dump me off or something? Darcy? Loki?”

Thor sounds so- worried. Not angry, just concerned. Loki scrubs his wet face with his hands. “Hey,” he barks in the general direction of the phone. “I’ll call you in a little while. Really.” He makes a frantic throat-slitting _hang up now!_ gesture with one hand.

Darcy frowns. “Thor? Thor,” she interrupts. “I need to put my phone away for a minute. Right, I’m driving,” (which she isn’t, not right this second). “We’ll call you back. Yes, soon,” she assures him. “Bye for now.” She ends the call and sets the phone down, right in the middle of the cleared-off console. “Okay, I give that ten minutes, tops,” she says, and Loki’s head starts fucking pounding. “So, planning time. What are you going to tell him?”

“I ca-a-a-an’t,” Loki keens, hands over his face again.

“Not to be a jerk,” she says quietly, “but I think you might kind of have to.”

Loki gropes around on the floor and then blows his nose on a coffee-stained, wrinkly napkin. “No,” he insists as he wipes his face. “I can’t drag him into this.”

“Into _what_ , sweetie? Thor’s no idiot,” she reminds him. “Surely by now he’s realized your life hasn’t always been kittens and roses. And you _do_ have an order of protect-.”

“Yeah, _that_.” He cuts her off. “Look how much good _that’s_ doing me right now.”

“It was only a phone call,” she points out. He doesn’t understand how she can be so calm. “And not even directly from him. I’ll take care of it. Now call your boyfriend back,” she orders, still gently, “and invite yourself over. Ah-ah,” she warns as he starts to refuse. “You aren’t sleeping in my office this time. You’re going to Thor’s, while I get this handled.” She waggles a playful finger right in front of his face; with tremendous effort he gets himself under control enough to pretend to bite it. At that, she finally smiles. “ _There’s_ my Loki. Go on.” She nudges the phone. “Call him.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cooler heads try prevailing.

Thor meets them out front, near the top of the driveway. He shakes off his jangling nerves as Darcy pulls up to the end of the sidewalk in a quick spray of gravel. “Can we stop by,” Loki had asked a few minutes ago, voice unsteady, and of course he’d said yes without a trace of hesitation. Without thinking, even.

Ever since then, though – in the ten or so minutes it’s taken them to get here – he’s done more than his fair share of (frantic) thinking. Clearly there’s something going on, and it’s probably the sort of thing he could use a bit of cluing in on.

“No panicking,” he reminds himself quietly as Darcy shuts off the engine and opens her door. The dust makes her cough. “They’re here. That’s what matters. Whatever else is going on, you can take it. Hey,” he calls out. Darcy smoothes down her skirt and tugs at her sweater. She looks uncharacteristically frazzled. “Everything okay?”

“Do you mind if Loki comes in, first?” She doesn’t grin and she doesn’t crack a joke, and a little tiny bit of panicking just might happen after all.

Yeah, more than a little and bigger than tiny.

“Sure,” he offers, trying to smile. “Where are my manners?” He follows Darcy around to the passenger side of the car, trying not to crowd close and loom over her. “Please, come in. I’ll get you both- dessert or something?”

“Oh,” Darcy says as she knocks on Loki’s window. “Unlock, kiddo. Thanks,” she tells Thor over her shoulder. It might feel like a brush-off, if it weren’t for how obviously she’s beyond distracted. “But I won’t be staying. As soon as I hand over your _precious cargo_ I have something I need to go deal with. It’s important. I keep hearing amazing things about your cooking, though,” she says. “Can I take a rain check?”

He knows she’s only making small talk. Right this second, Thor simply isn’t into it. To his way of thinking, _Loki_ is the most important thing in the world just now, but he doesn’t doubt Darcy has her own priorities. That, and her reasons. “Baby,” he says, close by the window. He can see Loki curled in the passenger seat like a small child; it’s scaring him, more and more. “Unlock the door. Let’s get you inside. Please?”

“C’mon, sweetie,” Darcy tries. “Up. Inside, like the man says. The longer we wait, the- um, you know. _Loki_!” She loses patience with the whole business and unlocks the door with her key fob. Loki jerks away from the two of them and smashes a knee and an elbow into the console.

“Is he _hurt_ ,” Thor asks her, shocked and a little breathless. “Was there some kind of accident?”

Darcy’s shoulders ride up a couple of inches. “No, and no,” she assures Thor. “I mean, he’s been doing a lot of flailing… he’s probably banged himself up some by now. But he’s fine. Physically. Up, kiddo,” she orders yet again, slapping at her own arm. There are a lot of mosquitoes out tonight. “These bugs are killing me.”

Loki unrolls and pulls himself stiffly up out of the car. He teeters just outside the door with one hand on the roof. Every single bit of him Thor can see is trembling. It hurts to watch, even. Thor just wants to wrap him in a big fuzzy blanket and keep him safe forever.

“We don’t need to drag anyone else into this,” Loki tells Darcy with a sharp jerk of his head towards Thor. “I should leave.”

“No,” Thor exclaims, too loudly; Loki jumps. “Sorry, sorry. Please don’t leave. Please. Just come inside and we can- talk or something. Unless you don’t want to.”

“Oh no, don’t give him any outs,” Darcy says. Thor isn’t sure whether or not she’s kidding. “Not this time. He needs to talk to you.” She nudges Loki’s elbow; he jumps again, a little less violently. “Right, Loki?”

Thor abruptly hits his own limit. “He can talk to me whenever he’s ready,” he snaps, a little more harshly than necessary. “Please don’t push him.” He holds out his arms; after a brief pause that feels very, very long Loki crowds up against his chest. “Let’s get out of the yard and go sit in the den,” Thor suggests. He pets Loki’s shivery back carefully. “I can make you some cocoa.”

Darcy looks them up and down. A slow smile spreads across her face. “Yeah,” she says, half to herself. “I think he’s right about you.” It sounds like a compliment, put that way. Some other time, that may make him happy. “Look,” she adds, “don’t ask him to talk if you don’t want to. But you really should know one thing: don’t open your door tonight for anyone. Not until I call, and maybe not then. Got it?”

He’s not sure he does have it, actually, but Thor isn’t going to let Darcy trip him up with simple instructions. He nods solemnly and walks Loki inside. As he shuts the door he waves goodbye to her… and locks the door.

~

“Sit down,” he suggests as Loki stands paralyzed and shaking in front of one of the big leather armchairs.

Loki does, letting Thor guide him down. None of it does anything for his shaking.

“Darcy was right; you’re not hurt?”

Loki nods. He blinks wild, wet eyes.

“So, stress then,” Thor observes. He carefully doesn’t tack on _just_ or _only_ ; he doesn’t say _fear_ , either. The last thing he wants is to somehow leave Loki feeling worse. Lower.

“Mm.” Loki half-shrugs. His eyes are still huge. “I got a phone call,” he explains. “It was- upsetting.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Thor says. He doesn’t have to fake sympathy, not at all. Seeing Loki like this is- it’s worse than that time at the dinner table, with the day-old food and the piles of paper. He just wants to help. “Is there anything I can get you?”

Loki laughs, sharp and out of control. “A new life,” he says. His teeth are actually chattering.

Thor shakes his head. “Sorry, nope. I- I’m too selfish. I want you to stay here with me in this one. What was Darcy in such a rush to go do,” he tries. Maybe a new topic will help defuse things.

Yeah… it doesn’t work quite the way he’d intended.

“She’s going to grab my phone and give it to the police, probably,” Loki says, like it’s nothing. Ordinary. Except for how he still looks completely freaked. “See if they can figure out where the call came from.” He swallows loudly. “Make sure no one is coming for me.”

“Oh, Loki,” Thor groans. He teeters on the arm of the chair and wraps both arms around his quavering boyfriend. _You’re safe here_ feels presumptuous; so does _don’t worry_. In the end he settles for “I love you.”

Loki nestles in against Thor’s shirtfront. “You shouldn’t,” he rasps, face buried in between Thor’s pectorals.

“Too bad,” Thor tells him. “And too late. Because, for good or bad, I do.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art therapy.

It takes a shamefully long time for Thor to come up with a solid plan. He’s not particularly worried about himself – for all this house’s open warmth and his own calm, low-key demeanor, his father’s friends and business associates are well known in certain circles… this property is well-defended, in every sense, and everyone who matters knows it – but Loki is still on the edge of flying apart, of shattering into a million tiny pieces. And sitting in Thor’s den agonizing over the situation, whatever it might be, clearly isn’t helping any.

He runs through his mental laundry list of options.

Later evening isn’t a great time for gardening. There are too many mosquitoes out this time of year, for starters. That, and it’s really, really dark. And, of course, they’ve been told to stay inside. Even if he’s not scared personally, Thor knows it doesn’t take a genius to see that Loki is terrified. Nothing about crawling outside in buggy, dirty, oppressive darkness is going to help that.

Cooking, Thor’s own go-to, isn’t very much fun when you’re so upset that life’s making you nauseated. All it takes is a look or two at Loki’s face, when he’s finally calmed enough that Thor can pry free of his fisted hands for a couple of seconds, to make that one a non-starter; Thor doesn’t even bother suggesting it.

Thinking. Thinking is just what they _don’t_ need to be doing, not while they’re waiting for Darcy to call. Too much time spent in the privacy – collective or individual – of their own heads just makes the wait drag on all the more painfully.

No, he definitely needs to find something for Loki to _do_. Something pleasant and soothing and- _ahah_! Finger painting!

Thor carefully keeps his newfound excitement to himself… he’s pretty sure he’s just had a wonderful idea, true, but Loki is unpredictable at the best of times and the last thing he wants to do is apply any pressure.

“Look,” he says against the warm crown of Loki’s head, forcing himself to sound calm and steady. “I have something I’d like to try. Will you be okay here for a couple of minutes?” He can feel Loki stiffen. No, then. “Or you can come watch me set up,” he quickly amends, “if you like the sound of that better.”

“Mm,” Loki hums into Thor’s collarbone. His lips are soft… soft enough that his mouth could be a serious distraction, if Thor only lets it.

Thor doesn’t.

“Okay,” he agrees. He’s fine with most anything, with whatever Loki wants. He kisses Loki’s hair, pressing down gently. “But go easy on me, okay? You really are kind of heavy.”

Loki does push off from the chair seat, more or less. Still, he’s mostly dead weight. Even starting from the wide, padded arm it takes a lot of work before Thor makes it all the way up to standing.

“Put your feet down, please,” he suggests afterwards. “I don’t want to smack your head on the doorframe or something.”

Loki doesn’t laugh, so Thor doesn’t either. But it’s easier going with Loki walking beside him, for certain.

~

“Sit here.” Thor pats one of the sculpted wooden stools in the pantry. There’s more room for painting out at the big table, but the counter in here is perfectly workable and he’s concerned that the big kitchen windows – and the inky, featureless darkness beyond – will leave Loki feeling exposed and anxious. By comparison the pantry is closed-in and secure, with just the one small window set high in its end wall.

He pulls a long piece of butcher paper off the roll and lays it on the counter, smoothing it out with both hands. “This is just to keep the counter clean,” he explains. He’s caught Loki’s attention now. _Excellent_.

By the time Thor has set stacks of slick white paper in front of them and is pulling out the tubes of paint, Loki’s terrified expression has given way to one of mild confusion. “Never finger-painted before, then” Thor notes. “Oh, you’ll like it,” he promises when Loki just frowns. “It’s very relaxing. Here, hold your arms up for a second. Like this.”

Thor slips a black apron onto Loki’s front. He carefully works Loki’s hair out from under its neck strap. “It’s the sort of thing that gets messy,” he tells Loki. “This way you won’t have to worry about getting glop everywhere.” He slips into his own apron once he’s gotten Loki’s situated. “Ready?”

Loki shrugs.

“Good,” Thor says, as though they’re in agreement. “Here you go.” He squeezes nice-sized circles of blue, green, and red across the top of Loki’s paper, then does the same on his own. “Play.”

He tries not to spend too much time checking up on Loki initially. Thor very much wants this to be relaxing, not stressful or judgmental. He smears his own paint without much regard to color or composition; the first few pages are always just to loosen up, to warm the paint and stretch the fingers.

Except that Loki only sits there, watching.

Thor wipes his hands on an old dishrag. Normally he would use his apron, but it’s looking as though Loki might need some assistance getting underway and Thor doesn’t want to spread stray paint all over their clothing. He tries to remember what it was like to be a tiny child, one who had never touched paints before. He can’t, not really. The harder he tries, the sadder he feels. “Hey,” he says softly, “do you want me to help you?”

“Mm.” Loki nods. “Please. I just- I don’t know how.”

Right now isn’t the time to explain that there _is no right way_ , Thor knows, just like it’s not the time to pry into Loki’s past. He slides off his stool and wraps himself around his boyfriend, tan arms framing pale, slender ones and his fingers laced into Loki’s. “Like this,” he says, pressing their entwined hands into the green paint and spreading it down the paper. The paint squelches between them, fine and cool, as he pulls their fingers towards Loki’s chest. “Annnd draw.”

It takes more time than he might have expected before Loki finally gives in to the whole thing and slumps relaxed against his front.

It’s even longer before Loki plays in the paint unassisted while Thor cuddles him quietly. “This is nice,” Loki says. His fingers are stained deep blue with flecks of blood red everywhere. “You’re nice.” He stretches back for a slow kiss. “Thank you.”

When the phone finally does ring, Thor hopes, they’ll both be closer to ready.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a big onion.

Loki blinks and squints at the room around him, trying to get himself oriented. Diffuse pinky-golden light. A soft, deep nest. He blinks again; everything clicks into place. He's at Thor's house and it's morning. He yawns and stretches, vaguely aware of Thor's warm bulk beside him and suddenly, sharply much more aware of how much he aches _everywhere_. Even his hands hurt. He brings one up in front of his face and jumps; his fingers are so blue they’re nearly purple.

_Shit!_ Loki scrambles around like a frightened crab, backing up against the headboard. Pillows fly left and right. They hit the floor with soft thumps he barely hears over the thundering of his pulse and the harsh rush of his panting.

"Sh-sh." Thor is right there, sleepy and mussed, with a big sheet wrinkle all down one shoulder. "You’re fine. You're safe here."

He isn't, though. Loki runs frantically back through yesterday evening's events. They haven't heard from- " _Darcy_ ," he huffs. "She's not-." He can't even say it.

Thor pulls the covers up and tucks them in around Loki’s chest and armpits "Shh," he soothes again. "Darcy's fine. She called, but you were sound asleep. Neither of us wanted to wake you. Not after the night you'd had. I'm sorry if I screwed up there," he says, sounding pained and sheepish. "Oh, baby, you're shaking."

Loki is still too frightened to be properly angry. He clenches the blankets tightly in his bright blue hands. It doesn't help; his body still quivers. "Wait. What did she tell you?"

Thor ducks in to kiss Loki’s paint-stained fingers. "Just that everything is fine. She has your phone and is going to take it in to get you a new number today. Um, and the guy who called is in jail. I mean," he adds when Loki recoils, "he was already there when he called you." Thor laughs, one quick, musical chortle. "I suck at story-telling. The guy called you _from_ jail. I guess he was just trying to mess with your head? Either way, Darcy’s getting the paperwork together and will bring it to you to sign. See? Fine. Safe."

Loki yawns, not because he’s sleepy. His whole body is still fighting. "What else did she tell you," he snaps. He knows he probably sounds defensive. Paranoid. All kinds of ridiculous. But these guys really _are_ out to get him, and everything taken together is a bit too much to process.

And he's embarrassed. Mortified.

Thor kisses Loki’s cheek like it's all a big heap of- nothing. "She didn't," he says. "I didn't ask and she didn't offer." He leans away and Loki scrabbles across the bed to follow him. "Hey, it's okay. I'm just grabbing my phone. In case you want to call her?" He holds it up and waggles it at Loki. "In case I missed something?"

"No," Loki says. He curls against Thor's side. "I just thought she might-..."

"Mm," Thor hums, wrapping one arm around him and hitching him closer. "No. We didn't gossip about you. Anything you want to share, you're going to have to tell me yourself."

Loki takes two deep breaths. He owes Thor- something. "He worked for someone I knew once," he whispers. "The guy who called. Someone I thought was my lover and my friend. Someone who thought _he_ was my- well, my pimp, I suppose. Something close to that, anyway." He braces for rejection, for Thor to say something awful or shove him away.

"Oh," Thor says. "I'm sorry. That had to really suck." Loki is still tensed for flight. "Shh," Thor reminds him. "I'm glad you're not with him anymore. Oh, that sounds bad, doesn’t it…" Thor huffs out another little laugh. "For you, I mean. I’m glad for you that he’s out of your life. Although – come to mention it - it _is_ pretty damned convenient.”

~

One warm bath, one lovely massage, and four big, fat, golden homemade apple-cinnamon pancakes later Loki feels a good bit more- more _human_. Human, and contrite. "Aren't you supposed to be at work," he asks. "I don't want to get you in tr-."

Thor waves it off. "Nah," he says. "I was planning to work from home anyway. Laundry," he explains when Loki raises an eyebrow. "I need to do some multitasking. It’s that or go naked.” His forehead crinkles. “Do you need to get home?"

Loki’s place doesn't _feel_ like home anymore. If it ever did. Still, he owes Darcy. He should write; he always does his best work when his emotions are stirred up and jagged. "I should get my computer," he admits. "And probably my car." Even with Darcy's update he's not going to feel safe walking, not right away... and the judge may call him into court over the paperwork.

"But then you can come back and work here. Perfect," Thor finishes, so Loki doesn't have to.

"If you don't mind," Loki says. He could mean the car, or coming back. Any of it.

Thor soaps the griddle. "Hah," he says. He's grinning so brightly he's nearly glowing. "Of course not. Just let me finish this last bit and I’ll give you a ride."

~

The security system is armed, exactly the way it should be. As flighty as Loki is, Darcy is always just that much more thorough. They won’t be staying long anyway... just enough to grab Loki's laptop, some notes, and his favorite travel mug. Because writing needs coffee, lots of coffee, and Thor has better things to do than wait on him hand and foot all day.

Of course, he hadn't been expecting guests the last time he'd flown out of here. The mug is somewhere in his messy, messy bedroom.

"Oooh," Thor exclaims happily from the doorway behind him. Loki turns to see his boyfriend dangling one spiky-heeled bright pink shoe from a crooked finger. "Are these yours? So pretty. Oh," he adds, smile faltering as Loki feels a hot flush spreading quickly from chest to hairline. "I'm sorry. I didn't- I wasn't trying to embarrass you. These-..." - he looks at the shoes, then at Loki's legs, then out the little window into the side yard. "They’re nice. I bet they look really good on you. But I didn't-." He squats to set the shoe carefully back down. His face might just be redder than Loki's. "Okay, pretend this never happened. I'll- I'll just wait for you out here in the hallway."

Loki scoops up his mug and hurries after Thor. At the door he turns to look longingly back at the shoe and its mate... they really are beautiful. Soft, sleek Italian leather, the color so rich it's nearly fuchsia. Couture, not hooker. Still, he isn't ready. Not today. "All set," he says briskly. He clears his throat; his voice is uncomfortably rough, in a way that doesn't keep nearly enough secrets. "I’ve got what I need here. Let's get going."


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoes bounce, sometimes.

It takes Loki quite a while to make it back to the house. While an hour might not be a crazy amount of time in the overall scheme of things – a bit puzzling on any other day, sure, but not to a point that would warrant jumping straight to any alarming conclusions – today it’s enough to leave Thor edgy and concerned about what might have happened. He’d even thought about texting and asking for an update, especially once he’d seen (from one of the upstairs windows… see: laundry, multitasking) Loki pull into the driveway but then spend maybe twenty minutes sitting out in the car doing nothing, but as far as he knows Darcy hasn’t returned Loki’s phone. At least, Thor doesn’t have the new number.

So, he waits. He putters around in the kitchen and checks his emails from his phone and pointedly doesn’t investigate further.

Thor’s own car is in the driveway, of course, and well over half the windows in the house are open – it’s a beautiful day, drier than it’s been and pleasantly breezy – so there’s no reason for Loki not to come inside if and when he wants to. And if there’s one thing Thor has learned over the course of their acquaintance, it’s that pushing Loki has pretty much no positive effect on anything.

~

“Hi,” Thor says, smiling, when Loki finally appears at the kitchen door. “It’s open.” His stomach sinks a little when he notes that Loki’s empty-handed – no computer, no mug, nothing but air and Loki – but he doesn’t mention it. “I was just getting myself some lemonade,” he says instead. “Would you like some?”

Loki leans against the end of the counter by the doorway and looks at the empty space just to the left of Thor’s face. “Who are you, really,” he asks, with the hint of an edge to what’s probably meant as a perfectly flat delivery. “And don’t just tell me your father is some rich guy.”

 _Oh boy_. Thor counts his exhale and inhale – long, slow – before responding. After everything Loki has apparently been through, this is hardly unexpected. At least, it shouldn’t be. “I’m not quite sure what you’re asking,” he says cautiously. “I’m Thor Odinson, son of Odin and Frigga Borson. I have a little brother with whom I’m not all that close. My father is slowly working on retiring; my brother and I work for his company, Borson Secure. I like to think that I’m the son less likely to run the place someday.” He takes another slow breath. “But you know all of that, which is why I’m not sure what you mean.”

“And if I asked– oh, I don’t know… one of your friends, maybe, or someone else who works for your father’s company,” - Loki crosses his arms; he does look directly at Thor this time, eyes narrowed – “what would that person tell me?”

Thor smiles. It hurts a little. “The same thing, plus a few warnings about how I’m stubborn and bull-headed and not nearly as funny as I think I am.” He tips his head a little and watches a muscle twitch in Loki’s jaw. “Have I done something wrong,” he asks. “Because I’ve been trying hard not to.”

Loki looks away. “It’s just- you’re just _too perfect_. You tolerate everything I do. You don’t get mad. You’re endlessly patient, even when I’m weird about the deal-breaking basics like sex and nudity. And when things happen in my life, crazy fucked-up terrible things, you- you don’t even blink, do you? It would be amazing – exactly what I didn’t know I was missing, the best thing that could ever have happened to me – except for how it’s too good to be true. It’s just not possible. No one as nice as you seem to be could conceivably be this nonchalant about rotten pasts and phone calls coming from people- from the kind of exes who _have_ people. So.” He puts his hands on his hips and sticks his chin out. “What are you playing at? And why? Stop fucking around and tell me.”

Taking the bait is just going to wreck everything, even if it’s what Loki expects. Needs. Is hoping for. Thor sets his glass down on the table and blots the condensation off his fingers with the hem of his shirt. “My parents had a beautiful relationship,” he says, watching Loki’s face. “As much as I didn’t – don’t – always get along with my father, my mother saw something special in him. They worshipped each other all of my life, right up until she- she was taken away.” He can feel tears welling up. He ignores them; he doesn’t want to seem like he’s playing for sympathy, not with the stakes so high. Plus, he really isn’t. This is the truth, unvarnished and scary.

“I made my mind up a long time ago: that’s how I want my relationships to be. If it’s worth trying at all, I’m going to give everything I have. And if I’m not willing to do that at any given time, that’s when I should be alone.” Thor shrugs. “If the person I’m with turns out to be the love of my life I’ve laid the right foundation. And if not, well, I’ll know I did what I could to make the world a little bit better. Life is short.” He shrugs again. “I’ve got better things to do than make it suck for my partners. If that makes me too good to be true, I- I guess I’m sorry.”

Loki looks up from where he’s been studying the floor. “And that’s it? The _power of love_ is going to save you from the shitty-ass people out there? The ones who want to hurt you? Who want to hurt me?”

That hits way too close to home. Thor has to remind himself forcefully that Loki doesn’t know any of it, doesn’t know about Frigga. “Of course not,” he says, doing his best to keep his internal struggles inside. “I’m in the security business. These days we do mostly IT security, but the company dates back to my grandfather’s day when security meant something else entirely. My father has the kind of connections no one dares to take on, basically.” He sighs. “I’m not naïve. I know there’s no such thing as perfect safety” (god, does he ever). “But I’m also not about to let fear paralyze me. If the best my family can do isn’t enough, then- I don’t know. I’ve lived the life I meant to. If it turns out to be short, well, at least it’s been good? I’m not sure what else to tell you.”

“So you think this is enough for you,” Loki says softly. Thor isn’t sure if it’s an observation or a question.

“I’m not sure any of us can truly answer that, not without the benefit of hindsight,” Thor says. Loki’s face twists. “Wait,” Thor directs. “Let me finish before you jump to conclusions. What I _can_ say is that it’s off to an auspicious start. Easily the best I’ve seen. So go if you need to,” he continues. The tears are streaming down his face now. “But nothing can take that away from me. Nothing. Not life. Not you. Not some asshole who wants to hurt you. Nothing.” He doesn’t add _and if that’s not good enough for you, I don’t know what more I can do_ , because that’s a cheap shot and he’s proud to be above that sort of thing. Instead he just wipes his face on his shoulder and says “if you’d like to bring your stuff in and write, you’re more than welcome. If not- well, know that I’m here for you.”

Loki makes an odd little noise and backs out the door.

Thor is barely able to keep from running after him.

 _You’re fine_ , he reminds himself. _And if you’re not, you will be_. It’s a litany that’s gotten him through some very dark days. He can brush it off and trot it out again if he has to. Plus, Loki has had the sort of week that would screw up most anybody. Things could easily look brighter in- “oh, hey!”

Loki freezes, one foot inside the kitchen and the other still on the steps outside. His knuckles are white where he’s clutching his computer bag. “You didn’t think I was coming back, did you?”

“Um.” Thor’s hands are shaking. His heart is hammering against the birdcage of his ribs. “I was trying not to think about at all, honestly. But I have to say I’m really glad you did.”

“Sorry I’m stupid,” Loki says as he takes another step forward. The door closes quietly behind him.

“You’re not.” Thor doesn’t think Loki is, even when he’s not so relieved he can hardly breathe. “You’re smart.” He holds out both arms and pretends he’s not shaking. “Here. Come hug me.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs a little breather.

By the time Loki wanders upstairs to Thor's de facto office - it's _not_ a spare bedroom; that's a couchy sort of daybed in the corner proudly showing off its lovely metalwork, not a beddy one - to ask about Darcy's text, the two of them have somehow both managed to be surprisingly productive. Thor’s finished two long proposals and a solid first draft of an even longer presentation; Loki, to hear him tell it, has all but wrapped up a story he's been dragging his feet on for ages. "Yay us," Loki says, simultaneously shrugging and laughing. "But anyway, Darcy says she has my restraining order. My _new_ restraining order," he adds brightly, but his face looks strained and Thor suspects he's feeling pretty fragile. "She wants to drop it off here. Are you okay with that?"

It's nice of Loki to ask, but Thor doesn't really need to think about it. Darcy's helpful and fun and anything that keeps Loki here a little longer is a solid win from his perspective. "Sure," he says cheerfully. He closes the last of his files, dismounts and ejects his encrypted memory stick, and starts the process of shutting down his computer. "Want to see if she'd like hors d'oeuvres? I can whip up a cheese plate reasonably quickly. And then you and I can have dinner afterwards," he assures Loki, who's looking a bit too anxious again. "Just the two of us."

"Um, sure," Loki parrots. "Sounds like fun."

"Sounds like something we owe her for dragging her ass all the way out here," Thor corrects. "You don't have to sugarcoat anything on my behalf. I'll keep your secrets, baby."

Loki's expression softens. The moment doesn't last, but Thor's paying close attention and he’s careful not to miss it. "Appetizers, then." Loki's thumbs fly across the soft keyboard. The phone chimes. "She's delighted. And starving," Loki recounts with a soft groan. "She may be here for ages."

Thor smiles. He's gotten enough done today to have bought himself several hours' worth of wiggle room. "My first meeting tomorrow isn't until after lunch," he tells Loki. "We'll make it work. Really."

~

Darcy doesn't get a full tour, (partly) in deference to the time (but mostly in an effort to protect Loki's privacy). Thor isn't positive she realizes just how much of Loki has made its way here, and he's not planning on being the one who breaks the news to her. She loves what she does see, though, and spends the whole time enthusiastically telling him ( _them_ , even, although Loki is quick to defer) so.

It's a nice evening to sit outside. Thor sends Loki and Darcy to light the torches - they want to have a snack, not be one – while he puts a nice spread together. Nuts. Local cheeses. Three different kinds of homemade crackers from down the street, because there's no such thing as too many fresh-baked crackers. Grapes. A few late-season berries, just to liven things up a little.

Prosecco, and the distractingly fancy, tiny, gold-bedecked flutes... just to be sure no one goes too crazy. Darcy needs to drive home; Thor and Loki need to keep their secrets secret. Not that he knows she's in the mood for prying - or getting hammered, really - but he's seen her in action. He's not taking any unnecessary chances.

Little ceramic plates and the perfect linen cocktail squares that never fail to impress round the whole thing out nicely. Thor feels good. He still has it.

~

"Holy crap," Darcy exclaims as she takes it all in. Thor's spread the food across two small, low tables at poolside; they can sit with their feet in the water, if they want to. Which Loki clearly does, given how both ankles disappear into the pool already. "I don't even know where to start,” she says. “This is awesome!" Thor squats to pour them each a little bit of wine and a lot of bubbles. Once he's down he stays there. "This one is a _god_ ," Darcy reminds Loki. "Hang onto him, for my sake. And your own, I mean. Cheers!"

They both reach up to return her toast and very carefully clink glasses. "May I," Darcy asks, reaching for the straps on her dangerously high-heeled slingbacks. Now that he’s seen a bit of Loki’s own collection, Thor privately thinks something similar would make a great addition. Then again, maybe Loki has a pair already. If not, Thor can always-… "My toes,” Darcy goes on, and Thor blinks. He forces himself to pay attention, “have the worst case of Lazy Writer Envy."

Loki pats the tile next to him, on the side opposite Thor. " _Awesome writer_ , I think you mean," he tells her. He grins at Thor, who takes the opportunity to lean in and steal a quick kiss. "I wrote so much today, you won't fucking believe it."

"Language," she teases in mock horror, snickering. "How can you talk like that in front if these itty bitty baby napkins? And _you_ ," she tells Thor, waggling a finger as he laughs into Loki’s shoulder. “Don’t encourage him! He’s bad enough already.” 

~

They spend a comfortable, pleasant hour and a half chatting and snacking and sipping their drinks. Even Loki relaxes into it. Finally, Darcy looks at her watch – “it’s a whole year’s salary,” she tells Loki as he reaches out to touch her wrist, “and don’t you dare ask how I got it” – and hops up. A little more water than necessary splashes everywhere. “This girl has to work tomorrow.” She shakes one foot and then the other, making Loki duck and squeal. “And that means this girl needs to do some laundry. I left your paperwork on the kitchen counter. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids,” she adds as she picks up her shoes and turns to go.

“Let me walk you out,” Thor offers. He’d like to think he’ll always be a gentleman. She waves him off anyway.

“She’s tougher than she looks,” Loki whispers as Darcy disappears around the corner of the house.

Thor laughs. “Not to mention twice as crazy.”

~

They’re in no hurry. Both Thor and Loki have snacked enough to take the edge – several edges, really – off their hunger. Loki perches on one of the high stools carefully slicing sour apples as Thor puts everything (except the sharpest of the cheddars) away. Afterwards he climbs down and wraps both arms around Thor’s middle (“under the apron,” Thor chides, “because I don’t want to worry about burning you”) as grilled cheese and apple sandwiches sizzle to golden perfection on the griddle.

Since the torches are still burning, the two of them wander back outside with a plate of hot sandwiches and another bottle of wine. They take turns feeding each other; Thor kisses Loki’s slippery lips and Loki licks Thor’s oily fingers.

~

“I think we should play _Truth or Dare_ ,” Loki suggests a couple of glasses of drinks later.

Thor groans. It’s a wonderful, terrible idea. “And I think we will live to regret it,” he says. “You know that, don’t you?”

Loki hiccups. He leans in for a sloppy kiss. “Maybe.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When life gives you wine, make hangovers.

They flip a coin and Thor wins, if you want to call it winning. Loki knocks back about three quarters of his glass, then makes a big, dramatic show of cracking his knuckles. "I'm ready," he tells Thor, shoulders curled forward and hands in loose fists like a boxer. "Have at me."

Thor feels a dizzying rush of something that could very well be dread. The longer he stands here, the less this feels like a good idea. "We should go over the rules first, right," he stalls. "So there aren't any misunderstandings?"

Loki snorts. He's not unsteady on his feet, exactly; it's more that he's moving with an odd mix of languid grace and precise caution that leaves him looking a bit- birdlike. Thor briefly considers telling him he looks like a flamingo – it’s the truth, after all, and that _is_ what they’re playing at - but quickly thinks the better of it. "Rules are overrated,” Loki points out. “It's an easy game. I pick which it's going to be, you pick _what_ it's going to be, I have to do it. And then we switch. See? Nothing to it." Loki smirks as Thor frowns. "Fine, be a party pooper then. Tell me all your stupid rules."

"No daring that's going to end up with someone in the hospital," Thor says. "And we should probably- oh, I don’t know. Have a safeword?"

"Seriously?" Loki finishes off his drink and pours himself another. When he tops Thor off, wine sloshes over the rim and onto Thor's hand. Loki proceeds to catch it with his tongue, one long lick after another. This time the hot jolt in Thor's stomach isn't fear; it's something else entirely. "Who needs a safeword to _talk_ ,” Loki complains. “Just say no already." He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "Dare."

It's a weird game to play with just two players, especially two who know each other so- so intimately. All the usual mild embarrassments really don't apply. They've found themselves naked and compromised in most every commonplace setting already, not to mention some relatively strange ones. It makes coming up with ideas a lot harder than it should be. Thor looks at his phone. "Okay," he offers. It’s not one of his more creative suggestions but it will have to do. "Dance the Macarena."

"Please tell me I don't have to sing it, too," Loki says. "Because I don't think you _own_ enough wine to lure me into doing karaoke.”

"Not this time," Thor tells him. "But thanks for the idea, baby."

Loki is a good enough sport, at least with this much alcohol in him. He pulls up the song on his own phone and dances it pretty much flawlessly, lips parted and eyes closed. "There," he says with a last roll of his hips as the music ends. "Name your pleasure."

"Truth," Thor says. He's been pretty open and straightforward; how bad can it be?

"Do you wish I would let you fuck me," Loki asks. His eyes glitter.

 _Huh_. "Only if you want me to," Thor says with just the tiniest hesitation.

Loki rolls his eyes and swallows another mouthful of wine. "What kind of sissy answer is that," he asks.

"A true one," Thor says mildly. "We're playing _truth_ or dare, not what-Loki-wants-to-hear or dare. You follow?"

Loki half-nods and then catches himself. Thor can't help but grin at him. "Hey, cut that out," Loki orders. "No questions. I haven't picked yet." He pinches a little blob of cheese off Thor's abandoned plate and eats it. "Mm. Oh, fine. Truth, then."

Thor pitches a soft one - "do you consider this your hometown?" (Loki does) - and chooses to take a dare on his next turn.

They trade a few small things. Thor runs his finger through the juddering flame of one of the candles, Loki says his first real kiss happened when he was eleven… nothing really disturbing, nothing major. Meanwhile they work their way through yet another glass of wine. As games go it’s safe and companionable and wholly deceiving; Thor's so lulled into complacency by the time Loki strikes that the question’s sheer force knocks the wind right out of him.

"Why won't you tell me how your mom died," Loki repeats slowly and clearly as Thor stands there opening and closing his mouth like goldfish on the countertop. "Don't you trust me?"

Thor sinks down to sit in the grass near the pool, pulling Loki down with him. “That’s two questions,” he whispers. It’s still hard to breathe properly. “I- I haven’t told you because you haven’t asked me. And because I hate talking about it. Even more than I hate thinking about it.” When he closes his eyes he can still see her crumpled body. He can still hear his father screaming. _That’s a mean thing to ask_ , he wants to add, but it really isn’t. Loki can’t know what Thor won’t tell him. But it feels mean, regardless.

“Oh,” says Loki quietly. He doesn’t apologize, although he looks vaguely sorry. Thor’s unabashedly drunk. He isn’t sure _vaguely sorry_ cuts it. Loki clears his throat. “Dare.”

“Take your shirt off,” Thor orders him, “and tell yourself you’re beautiful.”

Loki looks shocked for the better part of five seconds before his eyes narrow and he glares at Thor. “That’s cruel,” he says.

Maybe it is, a little. Thor isn’t sure how he meant it to come across, even. He shrugs. This wasn’t his idea.

“Fine.” Loki glares a few seconds longer before tugging his shirt over his head. “This is stupid. Look at you,” he tells his own chest. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

He is, too.

“Dare.” Thor’s not going to risk being asked to confess anything, not right this second.

“Fine,” Loki says again. His face is flushed. He finishes his wine and sets the glass aside with a flourish that nearly upends it. “Jack off on my face.”

That catches Thor completely unsuspecting as well. He laughs and chokes on his own saliva. When he stumbles to his feet, he can’t stop wobbling. “I’m not even sure I can,” he admits, still laughing. He’s not positive he got all the words right, even, and he gets his underwear tangled in his zipper. But Thor rakes his hair out of his eyes and looks down at Loki – at the way Loki’s lashes fan out across pale cheekbones, at the beatific expression – and finds he _can_ do it after all.

All he can do is stare. He doesn’t remember the question he asks Loki for “truth.” It was a waste, probably.

“Lick me clean,” Loki – eyes still closed, semen dripping everywhere - orders Thor on his next dare. Even though he has to kneel back down without stumbling, Thor finds that one’s a whole lot simpler.

 _Would you move in with me if I asked you to_ , he’s tempted to ask as they spend a little break between turns making out in earnest. By the time it’s Loki’s turn again though, Thor’s thought the better of it. Or, more to the point, he’s lost his nerve. They’ve been playing too long and he’s too buzzed; he’s feeling raw-edged. Worn out. Fragile. “Are you who I think you are,” he asks instead.

Loki hiccups. He tips forward and lets his head thunk against Thor’s sternum. “Um,” he mumbles into Thor’s shirt, “I hope so.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drinking and driving a conversation.

Thor fumbles around with his phone, trying to get his calendar to launch. After more than a few false starts he’s able to pull up tomorrow’s – it’s almost _today’s_ by this point, hence why he’s screwing around with it to begin with – schedule. Sure enough: just that one meeting, at 1:30 PM.

He moves it to early next week. No one is going to complain about a canceled Friday afternoon meeting. And if anyone does, well, he’s pretty sure his coworkers will get over it.

And if they don’t, he doesn’t care anyway. Not right now, at least, with he-doesn’t-even-know-quite-how-much wine in him and Loki slumped lazily against his side. And he certainly won’t care tomorrow morning, when he’s busy paying that good old piper.

“Stop fidgeting,” Loki grumbles from where he’s curled beneath Thor’s arm. “I’m sleeping.”

“No you aren’t,” Thor says, laughing. One of Loki’s legs dangles half in the pool. If they do fall asleep out here at least one of them is bound to drown. “You’re talking. You’ve _been_ talking. Plus, you should be grateful anyway.” He gives Loki a little squeeze. “I just cancelled my meeting.”

“Mm,” Loki hums. “So we don’t have to go to bed early after all.”

“Good thing.” Thor keeps right on laughing. He’s not high – hasn’t been since college, maybe even before that – but he might just as well be for how funny everything’s seeming. “Since it hasn’t been early for quite a while now.”

“We should talk more, then,” Loki twists a little to say into Thor’s neck. “I hear it’s good for us.”

“Baby, you are shitfaced,” Thor says. He kisses Loki’s temple, which quickly and sloppily turns into kissing Loki’s mouth. They both taste of wine.

“Maybe I am,” Loki agrees. “Whatever. I still like it.” He pulls away to blink groggily up at Thor. “But shhh,” he says, putting a finger to his lips and nearly shoving it up his own nose by accident. “Don’t tell Sober Me Drunk Me said that.”

Thor kisses Loki again. One of Loki’s hands slides up into Thor’s hair; the other worms its way down inside his waistband. They need to get inside before they do something public and regrettable. Skinny-dipping is okay, at least when they’re mostly sober. Drunken idiotic sex in the yard probably isn’t. Not that anyone’s likely to stumble onto the property this time of night, but there’s only so much fate tempting he’s willing to stomach. “Sober You would be horrified,” he teases, catching the worst of Loki’s wandering hands and kissing its slender fingers. “And rightly so. _What_ kind of person are you turning into?” He gives Loki’s hand a tug. “Let’s go inside,” he suggests. “We can talk there, as long as you want. Bonus: without the mosquitos.”

Loki struggles to his feet, splashing and hissing and nearly pulling them both into the pool in the process. “Should we pick up out here,” he asks, sounding rather dubious.

Thor stands, too. He can’t really tell which one of them is swaying. Maybe they both are. “Leave it,” he tells Loki. “Otherwise I think we’ll probably break more stuff than we rescue.”

They do put out the torches, though. Safety first, safety always.

~

“Do you have any family,” Thor asks Loki. They’re sprawled naked on a nest of sheets and pillows in the middle of the den, after an aborted attempt at washing up failed miserably. “Or any childhood friends you think of that way?” He knows Loki’s past is ugly, but he likes to hold out the hope that there were some bright spots hiding in amongst the hardship somewhere. Which, yes, probably makes asking about it stupid.

Loki rolls facedown with a groan. They’re not really even bothering with truths or dares anymore… just talking. “I have a couple of brothers somewhere,” he says. “At least, I think I do. I’m not sure anyone would tell me if they were dead, really.”

“Older? Younger?” Thor can’t really picture three little Lokis running around. Three pretty little divas.

“Younger,” Loki says. He’s not slurring, quite, but the shape of his vowels is a little funny. “I think they’re half-brothers, technically.” Loki stumbles a little over the last word. “I haven’t seen them since I left the house,” he says. “I think maybe my- my bio-parents kept them.”

“Hm.” Thor doesn’t press further. He doesn’t know how old Loki was during the whole foster care mess, only that it was probably before or during puberty. He doesn’t want to think about grade school Loki out on the streets.

“Have you ever wanted to marry anyone?” Loki’s question catches Thor completely unprepared; he sucks in a wet gasp of saliva and ends up coughing and sputtering.

“In the past, you mean,” he asks when he’s done dying. Because he’s so, so drunk and so fucking subtle. “No, not really. Not until-.” He stops, too late and too panicky, but Loki is half asleep and seems to barely be paying attention. “I stopped dating a long time ago, when I could never find what I was looking for.”

Loki rolls a little clumsily up on one elbow and scrutinizes Thor’s face. “And has that changed,” he asks, frowning. “Or are you playing me?”

“Do you even want to be a forever thing,” Thor blurts out. “I kind of got the impression that wasn’t your style.”

“Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Loki snaps. It would be on the wrong side of awful, except that right at the end of the sentence his elbow slips on a pillow and he faceplants.

Thor doesn’t laugh. That would be mean, which he isn’t, and besides he has a point to make. “If I don’t know you very well,” he says, leaning close to Loki’s shoulder and talking directly into the closest ear, “it’s because you won’t let me.”

“People always hurt me,” Loki tells one of the softer pillows. “They chew me up and spit me out. Are _you_ going to hurt me?” He sounds terribly serious and terribly sad. Thor wants to pick him up and hold him forever.

“Not if I can help it,” he promises. Drunk or not, he knows one thing for certain: “I mean it.”

“Everyone tells me that, though,” Loki whispers. “People like to mess me up because I’m pretty.”

It doesn’t make any sense. It’s too weird to be funny. Thor’s over laughing anyway; just now he feels more like bawling. “I’m sorry,” he tells Loki. “I would never- I can’t imagine wanting to hurt you.”

Loki snorts and pulls a pillow over his own head. “You know, I really think you don’t know me.”

Enough of this. Thor throws an arm over Loki’s shoulders and pulls their bodies flush together. “Now’s your chance,” he offers, mouth ghosting over the bridge of Loki’s nose. Loki’s lashes tickle his bottom lip. “Educate me.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking back...

"I'm not sure I can go so far as to _recommend_ it," Thor tells Sif - his head hurts something awful and there's a horrible taste in his mouth no amount of water seems to touch - "but it was a great... learning opportunity."

She laughs, softly. Sif's had enough bad days over the years to know that the harsh tinniness of a phone conversation only makes hangovers that much more painful. "I take it you learned mostly good things, then?"

"Yeah," he says. "Very." He gropes for something he can share with her. Loki is out of earshot, curled up on the sofa with a bag or two of frozen peas and Thor's best noise-canceling headphones, but most of what they'd exchanged had been exquisitely private. "He likes me better than I knew," he tells her, but as soon as the words are out he knows that's not it. Not exactly. "Or- well, I guess it's more like: he likes having a relationship with me- _being_ in a relationship with me more than I expected." Thor sighs. His head isn't up for this. "I guess I can't really explain it. But it’s good."

"No worries," she assures him. "I’m pretty sure I get it. Oh, and I'll have the reports you wanted done by 3:00 PM; that's what I really called to tell you. Go back to nursing your friend. And your stupidity."

"Partner," he corrects. "Not just friend; partner."

~

Thor drags his sorry ass out into the yard. He's not hungry and his eyes aren't up to sitting in front of the computer, so he might as well try to accomplish something useful. There are ants everywhere, which is a little revolting. Still, every dish and glass is wholly intact. He's counting leaving the mess as a good decision.

~

"What's the best thing we've talked about," Loki had mumbled as they'd both been struggling at drifting off to sleep.

Answering had taken some thought, and not just because of the drinking. Serious business deserves serious consideration. "I liked hearing how much you want to be here," Thor'd said. "How safe you feel, and how happy."

This morning, he has to admit that's still standing out as the winner.

Not that he hadn't learned all sorts of other interesting things as well.

_Loki is by turns jealous of and a little derisive of Thor's relationship with Odin._

It's kind of funny, because Thor pretty much thinks he and Odin don't have a relationship… not to speak of. Maybe when you're all alone in the world, having some sort of safety net - no matter how badly the rope mesh cuts when you hit it - calls to you.

_To hear him talk Loki loves Thor more than he's ever loved anyone. And that scares him. He's had vaguely bad taste in people as long as he can remember, which makes him wonder what he's missing. That, in turn, leaves him feeling guilty._

_He's sorry he acts up sometimes. When his feelings get to be too much, he doesn't know how to just sit with them without escaping._

_When he does escape, nowadays at least, Loki feels worse instead of better. He's not sure what to do about that. Conversely, he's sure he doesn't want to put an end to what they have between them._

_Loki does want to have penetrative sex, really. It's just been- his whole life, maybe, since he had sex with anyone because he really wanted it. He's not sure what a healthy, deeply intimate physical relationship is supposed to be like, mentally... and getting it wrong feels terrifyingly alienating._

_Also, he only feels brave enough to face sex-sex when he's shitfaced... and of course that's when Thor gets all chivalrous and gentlemanly._

_Thor's idea of setting some mutual ground rules sober sounds good to him, sure, but only when he's applying Drunk Logic._

_He's endlessly afraid that Thor will get tired of waiting and break things off. Yes, Loki hears Thor saying the sex is fine and anal doesn't even matter. He just struggles to make himself believe it._

_In the past Loki has used sex of all sorts to barter. It’s worked, but now he can’t seem to turn off the sense that his body is some kind of currency. Yes, he believes Thor doesn’t see it that way. No, knowing that doesn’t help. It should, sure. But it doesn’t, and that’s just one more reason to feel guilty._

_The house draws him in visceral ways he doesn’t fully understand, but he’s never obsessed about a single thing this long before – not ever – and that must mean something. Something big, that is, and scary._

_He’s tossed the L word around before, but this time he thinks he means it._

_No, he knows he means it. And he believes Thor on that one, too. Still, a lot of mornings he has to pinch himself to be sure he’s not dreaming._

_Loki’s not sure why his parents abandoned him; he was very young. He doesn’t really remember them at all, beyond a few isolated fragments. In his mind’s eye they are very, very tall. He’s an ant and they’re giants._

_His foster family tried their best to make him normal. When that didn’t work, they tried their worst instead. That didn’t work either_.

~

By comparison, Thor feels like he barely shared anything at all. But they’d ended the evening hugging clumsily and professing their undying, eternal love… and started the morning admitting to feeling (both horribly sick, and) a little ridiculous. So he must have done something right in there somewhere.

~

“Hey, sweetie,” Thor says very quietly from the doorway of the den. Loki has the headphones off and is curled in a tiny ball with both arms wrapped around his head. Thor smiles. “Can I get you anything?”

Loki groans. “A new head? And a new stomach. Jesus fuck. How much did I drink, anyway?”

Thor thinks back to the mess outside. He does the math. “A couple of bottles? We went through nearly four between us.”

“Oh, god.” Loki sags limp against the cushions. “Okay, hemlock then. Or arsenic.”

Thor tiptoes over and very gently pets Loki’s hair. “How much do you remember,” he asks, feeling timid and apprehensive.

Loki smiles, even though his eyes are still tight shut. “Enough to be embarrassed,” he says. “But at least I will die happy?”

“No,” Thor tells him, quietly but firmly. “You’ll _live_ happy. I won’t have it any other way. Now get some sleep.”

“Mm,” Loki hums. “Bed. Come with me?”

It’s not like he’s getting anything else done anyway. And he won’t be, either… not feeling as bad as he does. Thor lifts Loki carefully to standing; they hobble their way upstairs together.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes life is about little compromises.

Loki goes out into the yard to call Darcy. He meanders, letting his feet take him where they want to go, and ends up at the top of the little stream of waterfalls looking out over the pool. “It- I- I don’t know if I can do it,” he tells her. He’s shaking, despite the early autumn warmth. “The whole idea terrifies me.”

“Did you talk to Thor about that,” Darcy asks. “Make sure he knows how you feel and everything?”

“Ugh,” Loki grumbles. “Kind of? I mean, I complained. You know, I passive-aggressively vetoed the whole business.”

“In other words, he has no idea how you’re suffering,” she surmises.

Pretty much. “Yeah,” he admits. “Probably.”

~

Thor is having a party. Ostensibly, they both are; Thor has gone to great lengths to help Loki feel included. Still, the whole thing is undeniably Thor’s… and either way Loki is incredibly uncomfortable. Which, yes, he hasn’t even mentioned. This isn’t his house. It isn’t his coworkers. It isn’t his pool, despite the fact he’s quite confident he’s now been in it naked even more times than Thor has.

Worst case, he’s been given the option of skipping the party entirely. He could plan on doing something else that night, with his own friends (of which he has exactly one and he’s not even positive _friends_ is how Darcy sees things between them), or perhaps treat himself to dinner out and follow it up with a movie.

Stupidly, the idea of _not_ being here during said party is even more bothersome than the idea of enduring it seems to be.

And that? That’s saying something.

~

“Hey, it’ll be fun,” Darcy says. “Thor’s invited me. I’ll babysit you.”

“Oh, bite me,” Loki snaps, but it’s half-hearted. He’s actually beyond grateful she’s going to be there. She’s gotten him out of a lot of sticky situations over the years. He thinks the better of being obnoxious to her. “Kidding. Thank you for agreeing to come. Really.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me,” she teases. “And don’t flatter yourself. I’m only coming for the food.”

~

“I know you don’t like this,” Thor had told Loki when they’d first talked about it. “And I won’t be upset if you decide you’d rather not be around. But it’s something I’ve always done, ever since I had a place of my own. People expect it.”

Loki had pitched a small fit about how _people_ were suddenly more important than _partners_ but – even as he was pissing and moaning – he’d realized that wasn’t fair. In the end (otherwise known as the next morning, because backing down gracefully has never been Loki’s specialty) he’d apologized.

Thor’s employer – Thor’s father, essentially – had just landed a huge contract. Which means bonuses for everyone.

And a party. A cookout. Because that’s what the boss’ son does, apparently. And the boss’ son has mostly been single, up until what still counts as recently.

~

“Darcy tells me she’s coming,” Thor says. “Maybe that will make it better for you? If not, you can always hole up somewhere in the house. It’s not like people are going to come hunt you down.”

“Mm,” Loki hums. It’s just one evening. He’s being stupid. It will be fine.

~

Thor spends the whole day making food. Ostensibly it’s going to make the party itself easy – everything done ahead, from the cute hors d’oeuvres to the decadent desserts to the lemon-and-lime-slice-filled ice for the punch bowl.

At first Loki sulks, but Thor’s happy enthusiasm – about the food itself, not the party – is contagious. Before long he finds himself sitting at the kitchen island, slicing tiny heirloom tomatoes – red, orange, yellow… even purple-brown – into neat halves and piling them on a simple blue-and-white platter. Thor is over by the sink turning grilled squash into something that smells like heaven.

“There’s really only one person I’m hoping you’ll be willing to talk to,” Thor says. The muscles in his back shift and bulge as he crushes garlic, and Loki would sneak over for a lick if it weren’t for all this _stressful_ party business. “My friend Sif.”

Sif. Thor talks about her often. It’s only his usual matter-of-fact tone of voice that keeps Loki from succumbing to unbearable jealousy.

“She’s kind of my Darcy,” Thor explains. “We’ve been friends forever. She sees through my bullshit, and she isn’t afraid to call me on it.”

Loki sighs. He slips a little cutting his latest tomato, very nearly slicing open his thumb in the process. “Do you think she will like me,” he worries. If Darcy had initially decided she’d hated Thor, he knows this whole relationship thing would have gone very differently. In fact, it wouldn’t have happened at all. Which is frightening, considering how fully he’s invested now.

“I do.” Thor wipes his hands on his napkin and comes around behind Loki’s stool. “And if she doesn’t,” he assures, lips brushing Loki’s neck beneath today’s curly, messy ponytail, “that’s her loss. Isn’t it,” he prods. His breath is warm and humid. It sends little chills racing up Loki’s spine. Loki can’t help but twist around to kiss him. “This isn’t a big thing,” Thor promises. “I swear to god I won’t let it come between us. I mean, it happens once a year. Tops. Maybe.”

_It’s just one evening_ , Loki reminds himself, yet again. Just _this_ evening, and then it will all be behind him. Them. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I suppose it isn’t.”

Thor smiles. He kisses Loki’s forehead. “You don’t have to like this. And tomorrow I’ll make it up to you.” Another kiss, on the temple. “In the bedroom.”

Loki shifts until their lips slide together. If getting ready for a party was always like this, he thinks he could tolerate the whole thing better. “Are there any people from work you _don’t_ want me to meet,” he mostly kids. “Because I want to be sure I don’t miss them.”

“Snot.” Thor catches Loki’s lower lip between his teeth and nips, not gently. “But, yes. I want you to stay far, far away from Fandral.”

“Make it worth my while, then.” Loki says. He goes back to his tomatoes.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Thor says, voice pleasingly rough. “I plan to.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ups and downs of work parties.

Loki is willing to bet he's tried on every outfit he's got here - which comes out to be a surprising number once everything's heaped together on the bed; he hadn't quite realized how much of himself had accumulated, little bit by little bit - in the last hour. Twice. Guests will start arriving in just under forty minutes and Loki's still naked and sulking and miserable. Thor is casually, easily resplendent in linen bermuda shorts and a loose, faded red-and-gold-striped mandarin-collared linen shirt that would scream _caftan_ on Loki but somehow still manages to look perfectly handsome. By contrast, everything _he_ owns feels too drab or too casual or too stiff. Awful.

"Wear that black button-down, the really really soft one," Thor suggests when he pokes his head in the bedroom to find Loki pacing and sputtering. "Open. And one of those see-through dark grey t-shirts I love taking off you. Oh, and your gray shorts. They make your legs look fantastic."

Personally Loki thinks they make him look like a ghost, and not in a good way, but he's happy enough to have been relieved of the decision to graciously overlook that bit just now. "Off-black sandals," he confirms. He wears them often; they’re bound to be here someplace.

Thor's face lights up. His grin is positively impish, and Loki braces for it. "Oh, I dunno,” Thor teases. “Those pink heels of yours would give that outfit a nice spot of color."

From the feel of it, Loki's pink _cheeks_ are providing plenty of color at the moment. "No one wears shoes like that to a casual end-of-summer yard party," he huffs. It isn't true; Darcy totally would. Of course, she's at least as likely to wear old-school high-tops. "Hair up or down," he asks, trying desperately to get back on track as he fastens his shorts. Up might be a little too artsy for Thor's crowd, but it's still warm outside and he knows he'd be more comfortable.

"Up," Thor says. Loki smiles. "That way whenever I need to I can swoop in for a nuzzle."

"And no one will be weirded out?" Loki isn't sure he wants to be the Token Gay Boyfriend.

"My dad, maybe," Thor says. Everything goes still and silent. Thor’s mouth is still moving, but Loki's brain has stalled and all the words fly right past him.

"Wait." Loki's heart is beating so fast he may just keel over and die right here in front of the dresser. "Your _father_ is coming?"

"You never know," Thor says. He shrugs. "He might. But I hope not."

"Oh, me too," Loki breathes, with such feeling that Thor snorts.

"Never fear," Thor tells him. Which is, of course, utterly ridiculous. "If he does show his face Darcy and I will protect you. And he won't do anything, even if my _obvious and inappropriate gayness_ grates on him... not in front of the staff. Seriously." Thor gives Loki's bare shoulder a lingering kiss. "I think some of my coworkers are a lot more dangerous."

That isn't comforting. Thor hugs Loki when he says so. "Any time you want you can go back to your place," Thor promises. "If it's bad timing and I can't take you, Darcy will."

Loki nods. The clock on the dresser catches his eye. _Fuck_. "Go,” he orders, steering Thor towards the door. “I've got to finish getting pretty."

~

"I seriously think hanging with Thor is making you hotter," Darcy says to Loki as they do a little quality control on the mini-bruschetta from the high top nearest the pool. As promised, she's the first guest here. Besides, um, Loki, who knows he doesn’t officially live with Thor. Unofficially, even. "I mean, look at those calves. Gorgeous. Thor, don't you think so? Just say yes," she calls out with a laugh as Thor turns and waves from the back steps. "I know that's your _huh?_ face. This evening’ll be better than you think," she tells Loki quietly. "Thor works with some nice people. And if it's not okay," she says with a wink, "remember, your chariot awaits you."

~

Thor hovers near the most popular appetizers as people start arriving. Loki's not awesome with names, especially not when he's under this kind of pressure, but he does catch a few he's heard Thor regularly mention:

Tony says he does something with user interfaces. He refers to it as _GUI porn_ and laughs too loudly at his own nerdy pun; the pretty, tall redhead standing between them elbows him and tells him to be quiet. She extends a beautifully manicured hand and introduces herself as Pepper.

Loki isn’t sure what someone so polished and gracious is doing with Tony. He decides now isn’t the time for asking.

Fandral, from marketing, clearly can't decide whether Loki or Darcy is more to his liking. The whole thing would put Loki off, except it’s just as clearly making Thor wildly uncomfortable.

"I like this party already," Fandral tells Tony as they help themselves to the punch. It’s strong stuff, based on the cup Loki’s downed already. "No complaints about the scenery. Your _pool_ ," he emphasizes when Thor glowers and both Loki and Darcy snicker. "Your mind, I swear... always in the gutter."

Volstagg, at least half as wide as he is tall, clearly knows his way around hors d'oeuvres. And desserts. And spitted, roast wild boar, probably. He says he works in security and everyone around them laughs.

Loki smiles politely. There's clearly a joke he's not getting.

Hogun, who looks to be the only person less comfortable here than Loki, is a hacker. Or so Fandral says. No one laughs this time; Loki isn’t sure how to take it. In the end it probably doesn’t matter, as Hogun is clearly not a talker anyway.

And then there’s Sif... Sif, who Thor speaks with (and about) regularly. Her handshake is firm, businesslike, and she moves with the brusque grace of a fencer. "Sabre," she acknowledges with a sharp nod when Loki says so. "Way back in college. But, trust me, I can still be quite a danger if I need to."

Loki isn't sure if that's a threat or a promise. Or if there's even a difference. He diverts. "This is Darcy," he offers, nudging Darcy - who's busy flirting with Fandral - forward. "I write. She's my-."

"-handler," Darcy finishes for him. She smiles a blinding smile. "I take care of the difficult situations."

After a charged little pause Sif laughs. "Yeah," she says. Her face softens. "Me too." She doesn't add "these _boys_ ," so Loki doesn't have to (ask Darcy to) hit her.

~

Darcy's actually right, as it turns out. Once enough people arrive, the mingling takes care of itself and Loki can retreat - with Darcy, Sif, and a couple of Sif’s coworkers whose names he hasn’t yet managed to catch - to the adirondack chairs on the patio. It’s quieter there, and Loki can listen to them talk without having to participate.

And even though Thor is busy being a good host, he manages to balance it with being appropriately attentive. Every time he stops over to say hi, he brings them something to eat or drink… and every time he leaves, he kisses Loki.

It's fine, really. It is.

Right up until Sif stiffens and curses softly.

"What," Darcy asks, as everyone jumps a little and a powerful jolt of adrenaline jars Loki.

"Shit," Sif says, louder and more clearly. " _Daddy's_ here."


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing livens up a party like family.

A rippling undercurrent of energy flows through the crowd. Loki watches, too shocked to move and with Darcy’s hand gripping his forearm, as the people who’ve knocked back one punch too many hurry to set down their cups and the ones roaring with laughter only seconds ago turn quickly professional. Two women sitting with their feet in the pool hop to their feet. They frantically dry their toes with their cocktail napkins and slip back into their sandals.

It’s like god himself has appeared among them.

No, there’s no doubt whatsoever in Loki’s mind which _daddy_ Sif’s referring to.

“What’s _he_ doing here,” Sif hisses, mostly to herself. “It’s been years since he’s come to anything. Not even the holiday party. I don’t think he’s been out to Thor’s place since shortly before the closing.”

One of her staffers laughs, nervously. “Maybe Mr. Borson was just in the mood for a party?”

“Odin doesn’t party,” Sif says. “Not since his wife died, anyway.”

“Oh, come on,” Darcy says. Her voice is light, like she’s actually joking, but her nails are digging into Loki’s skin. “Everyone parties, with the right motivation. Maybe we’re just that awesome.”

“Yeah,” Sif says dryly. “Exactly.”

“Odin.” Thor’s voice rings out across the yard. The partygoers move aside as he makes his way, platter of salmon in hand, towards his father. He strides across the lawn with an air of projected confidence Loki can’t imagine possessing. “What a surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Should I leave,” Loki whispers to Darcy. “If we go through the side yard, we can probably make it to your car without anyone noticing.”

She releases her stranglehold on his arm. “Sorry! Um. Actually, if you’re up for it, we should probably stick around until we find out what he wants.” She studies his face. He tries a smile that probably looks downright frightening. “Will you be okay if we do that?”

Loki thinks for a few seconds. Or, rather, he tries to think. His brain really isn’t functioning properly. But she probably isn’t wrong, “I- I’ll do my best,” he assures her.

“…wanted to thank the team for all the work that’s gone into landing such a significant account,” Odin is telling the assembled crowd. Well, he’s telling Thor, but his voice is pitched to carry. “And to catch up with my boy. Later on, when you get a minute,” he adds before Thor can answer. He waves a hand dismissively at the food Thor’s carrying. “I can see that just now you’re busy, and a wise man doesn’t come between this many people and dinner. So,” he goes on, spreading his arms wide in a gesture that would probably look welcoming coming from someone less- less commanding, “congratulations, everyone, and thank you. Give yourselves a hand!”

There’s lots of clapping, of course, and some cheering (from the marketing team; it seems to be centered around Fandral). Odin makes a few quick remarks – after the noise dies down – about teamwork and shared goals, and then he’s moving through the crowd shaking hands and clapping shoulders and offering up man hugs.

Loki cringes.

Odin is a bear of a man, even broader than Thor. His grey hair is pulled back in a bun reminiscent of his son’s (well, it’s probably more like vice versa), a move Loki suspects passes for _bold_ and _daring_ in a man of Odin’s social standing. Even at this distance Loki can readily see he’s considerably more imposing in person than he is in the media. Which is saying something. He’s dressed for golf, of the country club variety. Loki remembers reading a human-interest piece several years ago about the patch hiding his right eye.

Darcy pats Loki’s forearm. “Everyone wants some face time,” she says. “With any luck he’ll get sidetracked and forget all about you.”

“About _me_?” Loki knows his eyebrows have shot so high on his forehead that they’re practically behind him. It’s a good thing he’s not playing poker or something, because he’s completely lost his game. “Why would he give” – he drops to a scratchy whisper, because these are Thor’s coworkers – “two shits about me?”

Sif turns to look at them. She isn’t smiling. “Because… you’re the boyfriend.”

~

About the time Loki’s ready to climb completely out of his skin – trying to fake listening to his seatmates while simultaneously monitoring Odin’s slow movement through the crowd is exhausting – Thor suddenly materializes and squats down behind him.

“Hi, baby.” Thor’s hands are almost hot against Loki’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly against Loki’s ear. “I didn’t think he would actually show up here.”

Loki shrugs. He means to sound- brave? Nonchalant, maybe. Either way it doesn’t work, because his voice is shaking. “What did he want to see you about,” he asks.

Thor kisses his temple lightly. “He says he wants to meet you.”

“Awesome,” Loki blurts out. Sif and Darcy stop in the middle of what had been a very animated discussion to snort and giggle.

“That was your outside voice,” Darcy tells him. “Just sayin’.”

“I really am sorry,” Thor offers, again. He doesn’t say “I had no idea,” for which Loki is very grateful. Because telling the truth has to be harder than lying. “I can make excuses if you need-.”

Sif clears her throat. Darcy leaps up, nearly sending the plate perched on the arm of her chair flying. “Mr. Borson,” she says brightly. “Darcy Lewis. It’s always a pleasure.”

Thor straightens. His hands stay on Loki’s shoulders. “Dad,” he says in a tone of voice Loki can’t quite place. “Can I get you something?”

Sif and her coworkers get to their feet. Loki follows suit, because it’s not like he was raised in a cave or anything. He doesn’t smile, though, even when he feels Thor’s arm curl around his waist. Odin offers a hand. “Good evening,” he says. “Odin Borson. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

There aren’t a lot of options. Loki shakes. “Loki.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Odin tells Loki, with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Eye. “And I didn’t catch your last name. All this noise,” Odin says, gesturing around them.

Loki takes a deep breath. “It’s Laufeyson,” he says. “Loki Laufeyson. I’m- I’m a writer.”

“Ah,” Odin says. Which could, of course, mean anything. Loki’s reasonably confident his name isn’t readily linked to much of anything it shouldn’t be, but he’s not sure what the sort of background check these people can undoubtedly do might uncover. “And you’re well acquainted with my son, it seems.”

“Yes,” Thor cuts in. He sounds much less nervous than Loki’s pretty confident he is. “Dad, Loki is my partner. We’ve been together for quite some time now.”

“Well, then,” Odin says, “it seems I need to stop by more often.” He nods to Loki. _At_ Loki, probably: dismissal. “And Sif,” he says as he turns away. “How are you?”

Thor pulls Loki close, which is- is fortunate, because he’s feeling a lot like his legs might collapse out from under him. “Excuse us for a moment, dad,” Thor tells the back of Odin’s head. “It seems our glasses need freshening.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Party on.

He needs eyes in the back of his head. Two pairs, even. Between keeping an eye on his father and another on Loki and a third on Fandral, plus one on the punch and another monitoring which dishes need refilling, Thor's sinking fast. On top of which, his head is spinning.

Loki is down off the patio now, talking with two of the coders and the network operations manager. All three are young, nerdy, and straight. Straightish, anyway. They're laughing and eating and nothing looks in imminent danger of exploding. Thor knows there will likely be all sorts of damage control later on, and that's fine. The two of them – he and Loki - just need to get through this part of the evening.

Odin is over near the desserts talking with Tony. The irony inherent in tasking Tony Stark with keeping Big Daddy CEO out of the punch bowl is somewhere beyond measure, but there you have it: Thor doesn't want any scenes. Anyone as intimately familiar with scenes as Tony is has the art of blocking them down to a very, very precise science. That, and Thor knows Pepper could stave off the apocalypse itself if she had to.

All the senior leaders want to get in their valuable CEO face time, too. Normally an endless line of sycophants grates on Thor; tonight it's proving quite handy. All he has to do is watch for groups of them, and he knows at a glance that his father is safely occupied. Not that Odin is likely to take Loki on anyway - there's really no immediate reason, and the last thing his father is likely to want is to have something attention-getting unfold in front of the whole workforce... especially where the appearance of diversity is concerned! - but Loki is (justifiably) skittish and one or two wrong words could quickly turn into a nightmare.

The food is easy. Volstagg helps. The amazing part? Volstagg even manages to leave some for the rest of the staff.

When he gets a free moment, Thor sics Darcy on Fandral. They flirt like crazy. She isn't serious; Fandral doesn't care. The resulting shitshow would be highly entertaining, he knows, if he wasn’t so tense and so busy.

Taken together it's an awful lot to manage. Consequently, Thor is oh-so-very grateful when he overhears his father making excuses. Odin, it seems, has a second commitment. Oh, tragedy.

Thor tries to make himself scarce, but his father hunts him down in the kitchen setting out refill ingredients for the punch bowl. "Don't forget to water that down some," Odin tells him. "It's getting to be that time of night. You don’t want anything _unfortunate_ happening."

It's been so long since his first rodeo that Thor can't even remember back that far. _Pick your battles_ , he reminds himself. Odin has never respected anything about his _womanly_ cooking. "Will do," he says. "Thanks for the tip."

"And don't think we're done talking about your- _situation_ , either," Odin adds.

Thor smiles. It makes his face hurt. "Oh," he says as evenly as he can, "I wouldn't dream of it."

Not until he sees his father's taillights disappear over the crest of the hill - from his silent vigil at the parlor window - does Thor feel comfortable going back to his host duties.

~

"He's gone," Thor whispers in Loki's ear.

Loki jumps. "I hate him," he says at about the same volume. "You just know he thinks I'm your rent boy."

Thor snorts. "As if I could afford you."

"You have no idea," Loki teases. He's making a solid effort, despite the strain showing in his face, and Thor really appreciates it. "I have to be kept in furs and diamonds."

"Emeralds," Fandral corrects from behind them. "To go with those beautiful green eyes of yours."

Thor grits his teeth. "I see someone has slipped his handler," he says to no one in particular.

"No no," Fandral kids. "There's enough of me for everyone."

"I think I need some salsa," Thor tells Loki. He gives Loki's hand a gentle tug. "How about you?"

Loki sighs, big and dramatic. "Yes, dear." He tosses his head. "You can buy me all the pretty things later, sweetie," he calls over his shoulder to Fandral.

Everyone laughs. Thor bites the inside of his own mouth until he tastes blood. No one is running off with anyone, and he has no business being stupidly territorial. Not with the stress Odin's visit has put them all under. "Fandral’s nothing but talk," he tells Loki. "Tony's the real sugar-daddy."

The bulk of the group laughs again, and this time it's better.

~

The rest of the evening is almost fun. With Odin long gone, the people who stopped by just to get credit clearly feel safe leaving; one after another they express their (not particularly heartfelt-seeming) thanks (which is fine, because it’s not like Thor is going to miss them) and head home. Within half an hour the crowd has dwindled down to the party people and to Thor’s real friends… the ones who actually enjoy spending time together.

He makes a game-time decision not to restock the punch. As Odin had so helpfully pointed out earlier, he’s being more responsible this way anyway.

Another half hour or so and the bulk of the party crowd has left as well. By 10:00 it’s just friends, really: Darcy, Sif, Tony, Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg, Pepper. Oh, and two overly dedicated, star-struck interns from accounting. Thor takes Pepper aside and has her send the interns on their way, nicely. They get little bags of leftovers, because no one _gets_ the value of leftovers like college kids do.

Once it’s just his friends, Thor dumps prosecco and vodka and homemade melon sorbet into the punch bowl. “Here you go, kiddies,” he says, marching the bowl over to the patio and setting it down on one of the end tables. “Have at it.”

They do.

It takes quite a bit of watchful waiting – that’s all he’s been doing tonight; waiting, watching – before Thor is able to catch Loki away from everyone. Alone. Loki has stripped off the button-down and tied it at hip level; when the torchlight hits at just the right angle, Thor can see the occasional scar through the thin fabric of Loki’s shirt. “Are you okay,” he asks quietly as he helps Loki stock a plate with cheese and olives. “I can send everyone home if you need me to.”

Loki pops an olive between Thor’s teeth. His own mouth quirks into a little smile. “Stop worrying,” he orders. “I’m fine. I just lived through it. Are you calling me a liar,” he asks, still smiling, as Thor makes a wry face.

There are so many things he could say. Instead Thor leans in to kiss Loki, so thoroughly that Volstagg whistles and Fandral calls out “get a room.” He isn’t convinced, not for an instant, but – if Loki needs to fake it – Thor’s willing enough to play along.

For now, anyway.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone lives.
> 
> ~
> 
> Sorry this is up so late! Just before I was done last night ao3 went down. I'm rushing this morning, too (gotta make it to work!) so the editing may be even worse than normal. :)

Things have finally, _finally_ died down. There’s going to be a fair amount of picking up required once it’s light out again, and the grass is going to need a few days to bounce back, but Volstagg and Tony and Fandral had nicely helped carry all the dishes into the kitchen before leaving. The worst of the garbage is bagged and ready, any leftovers worth saving have been wrapped in foil and loaded into the fridge… and the non-disposable dishes (which turned out to be quite a lot of them, because Thor just can’t make himself be ruthlessly wasteful) are already in the dishwasher being sloshed and sprayed.

As soon as he pokes his head out the kitchen door Loki, Sif, and Darcy simultaneously order him to _sit the fuck down already_. Thor is all too happy to oblige, really; he collapses into one of the patio chairs and sits there grinning as the rapid-fire jabs fly back and forth between the girls and his partner. Everyone else is gone, the four of them are pleasantly tipsy, and there’s enough of a breeze to fend off the worst of the mosquitos. It’s the best imaginable end to a rough, draining evening.

Okay, maybe not quite the _best_ imaginable, but Thor’s never really fancied himself one for orgies and he can’t exactly throw the girls out. Not after all the help they’ve given him. And Loki, too. So: chatting it is and the actual best will have to wait for later. Or tomorrow. It’s not like he and Loki haven’t got the time to be patient about it.

~

“So,” Darcy asks Sif between sips of her drink. “How long have you known His Royal Hotness here?”

Sif laughs. She takes a big gulp of her own makeshift punch. “Loki? I just met him this evening.”

“Noooo,” Darcy protests. “You know what I mean. _Who_ I mean, I mean.” She rolls her eyes at herself and sinks that much farther down in her chair. “Oh, screw it.”

“Thor and I grew up together,” Sif tells her. “My family lived around the corner from his. And when Borson Secure first made the shift from physical to computer security, when they set up their big command center, my older brother was their original operations manager.” She laughs. “My parents met at the company, way back when Odin’s father was still hiring- enforcers, I guess you could call them. By the time I came along there was simply no hope of escaping.”

“Oh, right,” Thor butts in, “because we all know how much you _hate_ it there.”

She pats his cheek. “I just can’t strand you at that place on your own, hot stuff. Whatever would you do?”

Loki laughs. “Back away, lady,” he tells Sif, waggling a long, slender finger in front of her nose. “He’s _my_ hot stuff. Don’t you forget it.”

“Trust me,” Sif says. She grabs Loki’s finger and pushes his hand back into his lap. “You can have him.”

Loki hides a hiccup with a cough. “Oh, I fully intend to.”

“Ohhhhkay,” Thor cuts in. “I’m not sure our guests want to hear about that.” He puts a hand gently over Loki’s mouth and then jumps when Loki licks it.

“Actually,” Darcy teases – at least, he hopes she’s teasing – “I think we do.” She gives Thor a friendly shove. “Now what were we talking about,” she asks Sif, “before these two dragged everything down into the gutter?”

~

The girls get along like they’ve been friends for a lifetime. He can’t help but think that, long after everyone is well-rested and sober, he and Loki will both regret ever having introduced them.

Thor sits quietly, working his way down his drink and gently running his thumb back and forth over Loki’s fingers. He listens to Sif and Darcy talk, all the while pretending he isn’t… and he- he learns things.

For example, it seems Darcy has known Loki a lot longer than either of them had let on previously. Their history goes all the way back to Loki’s later days in foster care, and then some. She truthfully is his editor (and agent) now, but long before that she was his friend and ally. She’s stuck with him through all sorts of big mistakes, but she really thinks – and this part she delivers in one of those hidden-behind-the-hand “silent” whispers favored by drunk people everywhere – that Thor’s a keeper.

Loki smiles. He’s acting like he isn’t paying attention, just gazing in silence out over the pool, but every now and then he squeezes Thor’s fingers. _It’s okay_ , Thor thinks. _You’re a keeper too_.

~

Sif yawns. “Ugh, jesus, look at the time.” She nudges Darcy’s knee. “We should go. Give these two their _privacy_ and all that.”

Frankly, Thor is pretty sure all he and Loki will do with any private time tonight is sleep through it, but nevertheless he appreciates the gesture. Plus, he’s exhausted. Even plain old sleeping will be very, very welcome. He struggles to his feet. “Thank you both for- for everything.”

Darcy laughs. “It’s nothing. Thank Loki.”

Thor grins. “I plan to.”

~

After the door closes behind Sif, Loki and Thor stare at one another for the better part of a minute. Loki looks- delicate. Bruised. The stress he’s been under shows in his face, in the dark circles under his eyes and the tense set of his mouth. Tired or not, Thor desperately wants to _kiss it all better_.

In the end, that’s exactly what he does. He backs Loki up the stairs, step by step, all the while crushing their lips together. They bump and scuff along the wall in the hallway and then tumble into bed. “We should get undressed,” he’s pretty sure he hears himself saying. “Otherwise, we’re going to be sorry.”

~

“Ugh.” Loki’s groan wakes Thor, who rubs his eyes and tries in vain to blink away his confusion. “You’re putting my foot to sleep.”

Thor struggles to roll off Loki and sit up. His eyelids feel like they’re lined with sandpaper and his head is throbbing. “Shit,” he says as his shirt traps one of his arms. “We’re so stupid.”

Loki huffs out a little burst of sleepy laughter. “We were tired,” he says. “Shit happens. We can get undressed any old time.”

“Yeah,” Thor says. He’s still mostly asleep. “Good point.” He flops back down. “Maybe we’ll do it tomorrow.”


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a secret.

Odin carefully aligns the base of his phone with the edge of the leather inset that spans the middle third of his desktop. Nearly all the furniture in the CEO’s suite was once his own father’s; it’s dark and massive, solid in a way you can’t really find anymore. The only modern piece is the computer table, one of those ergonomic stand-and-sit units everyone seems to be using.

Everyone but Thor, who types too forcefully and doesn’t enjoy the resulting wiggle factor. And Loki, who tends to hunch over his laptop like a prehistoric bird.

Thor waits. When Odin has something to say, trying to rush him into it is guaranteed to- well, to make you wish you had kept your fucking mouth shut.

“So, how well do you know this- friend of yours,” Odin asks. “How much do you know about him?”

“I know what I need to,” Thor says neutrally. He’s not going to be tricked into spilling something that would be better kept secret. He hasn’t fallen for that particular annoying interrogation tactic since early college. “Why do you ask?” He doesn’t want to know, not really, but a too-blunt approach ( _I fail to see how this is your business_ ) is only going to earn him an ass-chewing.

“I’m just not sure he’s the kind of person whose friendship someone as important to this company as you are should be cultivating.” Odin neatly fans his pens. “This _Loki_ character does have a bit of a history.”

From the tone of his father’s voice, Thor knows he’s expected to ask the obvious questions. So, he doesn’t. He’s not all that interested in discussing the fate of the family fortune, not right this second. “I’m more concerned with the person he is today,” he says, still neutral and toneless. “We’re good together.”

“I hope so,” Odin says, sounding rather like he means the opposite. “Because he’s amassed quite a portfolio of people from whom the courts are forced to protect him.”

That’s not news, not really. Thor knows some of it anyway. He knows about the restraining order(s?) and he knows that some of Loki’s past acquaintances are- frightening. It’s nothing he’s pried into, but what little he has heard is enough. He shrugs. “My place is pretty safe. I don’t think any of that poses us a problem.”

“And what about his ex-wife,” Odin asks.

_His what?_ Thor startles. He curses inwardly as Odin’s one eye narrows. 

“Maybe you should ask him about _that_ , then,” Odin says. “When all’s said and done, it’s always wise to know who might come out of the woodwork looking for alimony.” He probably says some other things, too, but Thor isn’t really listening.

~

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation,” Sif tells Thor over lunch… the lunch that he paid for and she’s systematically destroying. “Lots of people have ex-spouses,” she says. “It’s not exactly rare, not these days.”

She doesn’t tease, and she doesn’t accuse. She just listens and nods. Still, he doesn’t feel better. “Did he actually lie about it,” she asks after a fair amount of one-sided conversation. “I don’t remember you men-.”

Thor sighs. “No,” he admits. “I don’t think so. I guess I never came right out and asked him. But you’d think he would have mentioned it.” Having a wife. Maybe being bisexual. _Having a wife_. Something. Anything

Sif leans her chin on one hand and looks at him thoughtfully. He has to look away. “Maybe it’s a time in his life he tries to forget,” she suggests. “That happens.”

It’s something Thor wishes _he_ could forget. Which doesn’t happen. Of course not; it’s never that easy.

~

All afternoon he vacillates between feeling like he should just come clean - admit what he’s heard - and wanting to pretend none of this ever happened. When it’s time to leave for the day, he still has no idea whatsoever as to what he ought to be doing.

Thor contemplates calling Darcy, but that seems… disingenuous. If he has something to say to Loki, he knows he ought to just say it.

~

“Hey.” Loki picks up on the third ring. He sounds- tired. Strained. But maybe Thor’s just reading into it. 

It’s not like Loki would have realized he and Odin were going to be chatting today; when Thor’d left the house this morning, even he hadn’t known that was coming. The summons hadn’t arrived until he’d been at his desk for well over an hour.

“Um,” Thor tries. He’s worked himself up to the point of being incredibly nervous, so much so that he nearly drops his phone. “Look, can we talk?”

Loki huffs out a sharp little laugh. “I thought we _were_ talking.”

“My father called me into his office earlier.” Thor simply can’t stand not cutting straight to the heart of it. “He- he had some interesting things to tell me.”

“About me,” Loki says. His voice is flat and hard, even over the phone. “He wants you to stop seeing me.”

“No,” Thor insists, but it feels like a lie. “Well, okay, maybe. But that wasn’t what it was. That wasn’t what he told me. He said you’d been _married_ , Loki.”

“Shit,” Loki says, loudly. “ _Goddamn_ it.” Thor’s stomach sinks. “Look, okay, I can’t talk about this right now. I’m sorry.”

“Loki? It’s fi- Loki? Loki?” Thor looks at his phone. _Call ended_.

When he tries the number again, enough times more than once that he’s actually a little bit embarrassed about it, Loki’s phone goes straight to voicemail.

Thor’s texts go unanswered as well.

~

One day stretches into two stretches into five and six and seven. Thor keeps waiting for Loki to show up unannounced. Or text. Or leave a note while he’s at work. Something. Anything.

But, no. Nothing.

Thor doesn’t have a key, but Loki’s own place looks- typically unoccupied.

~

“I haven’t heard from him,” Darcy says. “I figured he was with you. Why? What’s going on?” She isn’t laughing and she isn’t teasing; something in his voice must have clued her in, and that just leaves him all that much more afraid.

Thor needs to know where Loki is. He’s already had more than enough time to debate the nuances mentally. “My father did some snooping around, apparently,” he tells Darcy. The more he talks, the more he’s reflexively angry. This must all be something she knows, too, as close as the two of them are. As close as they’ve _been_. She must have known; she could have warned him. He drops the bomb: “Odin told me about Loki’s ex-wife.”

Darcy whistles between her teeth. “Shit,” she exclaims. “And you asked Loki.”

“I mentioned it,” Thor says. “It felt wrong not to.”

“Crap,” Darcy says.

“And now he’s gone,” Thor points out, unnecessarily. “Gone for a week. And I don’t have the faintest idea what I should do.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing beats a few days at the cottage.

When his phone rings - not his cell, the old landline that no one ever gives out to- pretty much anybody - Loki figures it must be a wrong number. He's been here more than a week now and no one has called, let alone appeared. Still, he can’t shake off the little thrill of fear that hits him when the answering machine takes it.

"Um, Loki, it's me." 

_Fuck_.

He hasn't spoken with Sigyn in years, but her voice is unmistakable.

"Hey, I have to tell you something. It’s not like I call you for fun, you know. Pick up, okay?"

Loki doesn't. Instead he stands frozen in front of the stone fireplace. He's not sure he could move if he wanted to. Or if he needed to. The giant mounted fish over the sideboard gazes impassively down at him with its one flat, dead eye.

Sigyn sighs. "Okay, fine," she says softly. She sounds so over it. She’s been over it for as long as he can remember… it doesn’t even hurt anymore. "It's good to see nothing's changed. Look, if you get this, call Darcy. Everyone thinks you're- oh, dead or something. So, yeah, just call her. Don't shoot me... I'm only the messenger." She sighs again. "Fine," she repeats. For most of the time they'd spent together, he knows, that - delivered with _just_ that exact same bored-annoyed tone – had been her favorite word in the whole English language. "Just call her. Bye. Oh, and Loki? Charge your stupid cell phone."

He sinks slowly to the floor, clinging to the doorframe to keep from outright falling. When he's all the way down, he just lies there and looks at the chewed walnut shells and the leaves… and breathes in the omnipresent bouquet of spar varnish and mildew. The place almost smells better when it hasn't yet been fully opened, when the musty old rugs are still rolled up in one of the bedrooms. It’s likely no one has been here in years. The water's not on, of course, but he's brought along a case of the bottled stuff for drinking. That, and the outhouse still sports a big can of lime among all the cobwebs and egg sacs.

What there _isn't_ , though, is a whole lot of propane. Loki’s being careful; he only runs the generator for a little bit each day, just long enough to put a charge on his computer.

And he tells himself that's the reason why he's not charging his phone. Because if he thinks about it too carefully, he has to face the fact that a charged phone is just too tempting. A charged laptop lets him write; a charged phone - because even out here there's a weak Edge signal - lets him text... or email. Or receive calls from people other than his uncle's (long dead) friends and his own distant past.

None of that is what he needs. Loki needs to write, and all that writing requires is serviceable solitude. Oh, and a little propane.

Which doesn't do a thing to explain why his cell phone is so fucking tempting. He's careful not to inspect _that_ too closely. Because life here is better for him. He knows it is. And once he's really gotten settled in he can buy more propane - and some kerosene and bright new mantels for the Coleman lights - and maybe arrange to have someone come deal with the plumbing. It's a couple of months before he'd have to have everything (re)winterized, and using the septic tank for now would buy him some headspace in the, er, head. If it’s even okay to apply that term to an outhouse.

Writing is a precise business.

Loki won't even let himself think about _investigating_ getting broadband. Or a hotspot. There's a little library in town, near the country store… the one that sells propane. He can submit things to Darcy from there, maybe weekly. As long as she gets something regularly, she’ll be fine. In fact a schedule like that would seriously impress her. He hasn’t written that regularly since college.

And Darcy can pay him via direct deposit. It’s reasonable to surmise that, if Loki plays his hand right, he may never have to speak with anyone beyond the cashier and the librarian again. Never, ever. Not once. Not for the rest of his sad little life.

No one comes here. No one knows him. He'll be free and unfettered and- and _safe_. It's perfect.

 _So_ , he asks himself a nice, long, soggy hour later, _why are you wasting so much of your perfect life fucking sobbing?_

~

It's dark when Loki finally gets his shit together and scrapes himself up off the floor. His hair is stiff with dried tears and his shirt smells like cottage. In a bad way. He drags himself back up the doorframe and shuffles over to the empty, open refrigerator to grab a flashlight. There's still some of yesterday's bread and fruit left; it isn’t what he wants, but it will have to suffice.

 _It isn’t what he wants_.

What he wants is Thor.

~

“Hey. Sigyn told me to call you.” He counts to twenty. Wait for it. Wait for it. It’s bound to be coming.

“What the _fuck_ , Loki?” Loki mouths the words right along with her, and then grins like a crazy person. For all Darcy thinks she’s so original, she’s stupidly predictable. He loves it. Or, he would, if he wasn’t so stressed about everything.

“I needed to get away,” he tells her. “I’m fine. I’m working on the story you asked me for, and I should have it to you in the next three or so days.” He’s striving to be as businesslike as possible. “Does that work for you?” If he can just get her off the phone before-.

“You know that’s not why I’m calling,” Darcy points put. “Stop being an ass, kiddo.”

Yeah. Before _that_.

Loki grits his teeth. This is not a conversation he feels like having. “It’s better this way,” he tells her. “I’m bad for people. It’s best that I’m alone.”

“Fine,” Darcy says. “You man up, then, and tell that to Thor.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ain't nobody happy.

Thor doesn’t want to put Darcy in the middle of their mess. _His mess_. It’s been a couple of weeks and he’s gotten over being angry with her – it’s not her job to watch either of them, really, and Loki’s secrets have never been hers to tell… which she’d been honest about all along – but he still feels as though grown-ups should be able to handle things themselves. It’s not her problem, it’s not her business. It’s not like _he’s_ gone anywhere.

If Loki wants to reach him, after all, doing so shouldn’t pose much of a challenge. And if Loki doesn’t want to, there’s really nothing Darcy’s going to be able to do about that anyway.

Thor knows he should just set the whole thing down and go on about his day-to-day stuff like- like he used to. Before Loki came along. It was nice while it lasted, sure. But life before it had started had been perfectly fine, too. There’s no reason why it can’t be again.

Except it’s hard. It’s hard to go back. Sure, he’d spent years cooking for one and working on the house. Working out. Catching the occasional happy hour or dinner with his coworkers and friends. None of it had ever seemed hollow and empty. It had just been normal and expected and sometimes even _fun_.

That was before. Now, the things he’s done every day for the last umpteen years have been wholly stripped of their color. Of their pleasure. Everything is dull and flat. And as the weeks go by life only gets duller and flatter.

~

“I’m worried about you,” Sif tells him. It’s well into autumn, now; it never gets very cold here, but the nights have gotten brisk and it’s difficult to ignore how much more promise his life had held coming into this past summer. Not to mention how much nicer it would be now if he only had someone to curl up with. Okay, not any old someone; _Loki_.

“Huh? Oh, sorry,” he tells her. “I really meant to listen.”

“Well, thank you for proving my point,” she says, “before I could even make it.” Her brows pinch together. “You’re off in space all the time,” she offers. “And not in a good way. You just seem so _sad_ these days.”

Thor shrugs. “I guess I’m not bouncing back like normal,” he admits. Not that he really has a _breakup normal_ mode to compare this to; before Loki he’d spent a long time single, choosing to use his time and energy – already in short supply thanks to coping with the loss of his mother – on his work and his house and his own wounded psyche. For the longest time there hadn’t been anything left to give to a relationship. Thor _gets_ how that feels. “I- I liked having him around. And I guess I really thought things were going somewhere. Somewhere good, I mean,” he adds with a sad laugh. “I guess everything’s always _going_.” He pushes a stray ravioli around with his fork, leaving little red-sauce-edged streaks zigzagging across his plate. “But it’s not worth worrying about me. I’ll be fine.” He knows he will be, eventually. He hasn’t been a teenager in forever. He’ll get through the whole mess. He’ll get over it.

Sif shakes her head. “It’s not like you to just give up like this,” she tells him.

“I’m not giving up,” Thor corrects. “I’m just respecting his decision.”

“I wasn’t there,” she says, “but the way you described it the whole thing sounded a bit rash and sudden. I’m not sure that counts as a _decision_.”

He sighs. Playing at semantics doesn’t sound particularly appealing, not just now. “What I meant was,” he grumbles, “I don’t like to push my way in where I’m not wanted. If Loki’s done with it, he’s done with it. Let it go already.” He knows he sounded a little sharp at the end there. Even now it’s still too fresh. He both longs for and dreads the day when it- when it isn’t anymore. “Can we talk about something more pleasant, maybe?”

~

“Do you miss him,” Sif asks as she stands and collects the last of her garbage.

Thor does. The whole thing still feels like a hole torn straight through his chest. “What I hate most,” he says, sidestepping the question, “is the way it ended. Stopped, whatever. I never got to see him. I never got to say goodbye.”

~o~

There’s no pretending otherwise: summer’s long gone. Loki has the guy coming tomorrow to shut the water back off and to winterize the plumbing. Reverting to just the outhouse and bottled water is going to suck, especially with the lake getting too chilly for swimming. He’d given washing up in the little public bathroom a test drive during his last library visit; it wasn’t all that pleasant, or effective. And that night he’d dreamed – for the first time in years – he was homeless.

The idea of sticking the winter out here, even with a nice big woodpile and an acre of pleasant silence, is a lot less appealing _up close_ than it had been from a romantic distance back at the tail end of summer. He’s not as young as he once was. Apparently he’s not as tough, either, because the lure of a warm bed that doesn’t smell like anything worse than dryer sheets (or a little too much of his own stink) is awfully compelling. A bed that smells like _Thor_ still sounds even nicer, if he lets himself think that way.

He generally doesn’t.

Loki’s been very responsible. He’s turned in new material once a week, exactly as promised. When he goes into the little hamlet that passes for a town, to stock up on food – he’s been living on pasta and sauce and a few fresh vegetables… and oranges, because how ridiculous would it be to actually get scurvy? – and submit his work, he dutifully reads and answers each of Darcy’s emails (and none of anyone else’s).

Instead of proud, he’s bored. And lonely.

_This is what you deserve,_ he reminds himself. _Some things just can’t be forgiven_.

But he thinks he might lock up the cottage for the season and head back to the city (for the winter, at least) anyway.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holiday, holiday.

None of his friends are particularly religious, but Thor has always liked the custom of getting together around the winter solstice and taking the opportunity to relax… to reacquaint and celebrate. This season is no exception, even if he hasn't got a lot of cause for celebration presently. But it really has been a good year overall - parts of it were fantastic, honestly - and he's employed and healthy. His friends are all in town and he has, in Darcy, a new (kind of resurrected) friend to count among them. On top of all that, Thor misses cooking for someone. A reasonably sized holiday gathering provides the perfect excuse to try out a few nice-sounding new recipes.

Yes, yes… conventional wisdom does suggest staying with the well-vetted when it comes to feeding guests. But Thor's not one for convention, and he's arguably somewhere short of wise; it may be sound advice but he isn't sticking to it. Plus his friends are an adventurous bunch when it comes to foodstuffs anyway. "Bring something that reminds you of your own family holidays," he suggests to them, "the ones you share today or the ones you grew up with. Make it as fun and as wild as you'd like. Or just bring yourself, if you don't feel like making anything." Whatever his friends (do or don't) supply, he can always guarantee there will be plenty.

~

Thor’s just loading the spoils into his car (after what will doubtless not be the last of several shopping trips) when his phone rings. "Hey," Darcy says. She's on her office phone, on speaker; she sounds distant and a bit tinny. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Just heading home," he says. Even mentally corrected for poor audio quality, she sounds keyed-up. Not that that's unusual; it _is_ Darcy. “You’re fine. Is everything okay?"

She clears her throat. "Yeah," she says. She doesn’t seem to be trying very hard at being convincing. "Look, Sigyn's holding on the other line. Sigyn as in Loki's-."

_Awesome_. "Yeah," Thor says shortly. His heart starts pounding, and he yawns. He may be too tired for this conversation, even though the evening itself is still fairly young. "I know who she is." Odin had helpfully supplied that particular tidbit on the night of- of their awful conversation. Thor’s been avoiding his father since then.

"Will you talk to her," Darcy asks. "Just for a couple of minutes? She wants to tell you something."

Thor sighs. Most of him wants to say _no_ \- time isn't healing all wounds, not so far - but he trusts Darcy. Her methods are unorthodox but he can't fault the magic she works using them. "Okay." He concedes the battle. "As long as it's quick. I have to get this food home."

~

"Hi," Sigyn says. "Sorry to bother you." She sounds a little out of breath, and she's an uptalker. He wonders what she looks like. "I know some of what happened, and I wanted to share something."

"Go on," Thor tells her. Darcy's still on the call to run interference, and he can always just hang up if he needs to.

In the end, he doesn't. To hear her explain it, she and Loki had crossed paths at the end of a bad housing situation (she hadn't specified, Thor hadn't pressed for details; in fact, he hadn’t commented at all). She’d fallen in love with helping Loki; Loki’d liked being taken care of. Together they’d let it blind them to how little the two of them really had in common. As Loki got better, things between them got worse... until splitting up had looked far, far smarter than staying.

"Why are you telling me this," he'd asked when she'd finally finished. If _that's_ what she thought had happened between him and Loki, he didn't want or need to hear-.

"We were kids, really," she'd said, interrupting his thoughts. "It was ages ago. We've both put it a long way behind us. I'm not the big, bad secret your father imagined... just an oversight, really."

"I don't need help figuring out what counts as a lie, thank you very much," he snapped.

"Oh, no," she'd said quickly. "That wasn’t- I just- I meant you shouldn't feel guilty."

Which had shut him up, abruptly. He hadn't even thought to ask her how she'd known.

~

The kitchen is humming. Thor's got Volstagg and his wife Hilde helping with the last of the food prep, because they love doing it. They’d volunteered, which lined up nicely with how he'd actually been worried about feeling too sad going at it alone. He'd taken them up on their offer, amidst vague excuses about it being too much work (which it isn’t), and it really had worked out nicely. They’re so cheerful he can't possibly wallow. With them here the whole business has ended up feeling considerably more festive.

A few early birds are chatting in the foyer. Sif and Hogun are holed up in the alcove that's serving as a bar. Thor smiles to himself. It’s going to be a fine evening.

~

Everyone brings friends or family. And food. Oh, the food. To an item everything he's got goes over well - not that he'd been worried, not with Volstagg performing quality control across a broad sample set earlier – but even so his guests manage to show him up with their own family treasures. Like the cooks themselves the resulting spread is a crazy mix of Scandinavian and Polish, Baltic and plain old American.

Catholic and Pagan and Jewish and everything in between.

With mulled wine and some of Tony's friend Bruce's famous winter homebrew.

None of it should work, not together. But it does. It's amazing.

~

Later on Thor's in the kitchen alone, loading up a plate with more of the artisanal goat cheese and smoked salmon. It's so loud out in the front of the house that he almost doesn't hear the knocking.

When he opens the door, he all but turns right around and shuts it. Only the shock of it all keeps him still.

Loki ( _Loki_ )'s cheeks are pink above his fluffy scarf. It's a damp night, and just cold enough that his breath is fogging. He holds out a small box of- of something. Thor is too flustered to read it.

"Hi," Loki says when Thor just nods, stiffly. "Do you think we can talk for a minute?"

"No, not right now," Thor says, “not with a houseful of guests.” His voice surprises the fuck out of him; it comes out cool and collected. Loki looks crestfallen, though, and just like that Thor loses his resolve. "But you're welcome," he offers, opening the door wider, "to come in and join the party."


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a waltz without a dance partner, somehow.

Thor’s proud of his friends and their families. They’re good people.

Sif whispers “holy shit” under her breath, and Tony’s eyebrows fly higher up his face than ought to be physically possible, but everyone behaves and no one says anything awkward. Not when he’s within earshot, anyway.

Thor doesn’t escort Loki around – his guests, by and large, aren’t strangers to one another and Thor is (among other things) still busy in and out of the kitchen – but it doesn’t matter; everyone is welcoming and friendly and matter-of-fact about it. If they’re secretly freaking, or secretly judging, no one lets on.

When Thor comes into the dining room to top off one of the chafing dishes with a fresh load of vegetarian dim sum, Tony has Loki and Steve Rogers cornered and is trying to sell the two of them on doing an art/writing collaboration. Though they’ve met a few times, Thor doesn’t know Steve well. He doesn’t even know Steve’s preferences; the guy is here with Pepper, but from the looks of it they aren’t a couple. He does know Steve’s ex-military, neat and organized and polite to fault. Utterly dependable. All Thor can think is how he and Loki would drive each other crazy.

“You should go hunt down your client,” he tells Darcy a few minutes later. She’s perched on the staircase admiring her festive, glittering red nail polish with two of Volstagg’s oldest daughters. “I realize you ladies are transacting important business here,” he adds, smiling at each of Volstagg’s girls in turn, “but I think Tony’s trying to set him up with a book deal.”

Darcy laughs. “He wouldn’t dare,” she says, but she peels herself up off the stairs anyway.

~

“Are you holding up okay,” she asks Thor quietly once they’re alone in the hallway. “I didn’t know he was planning on coming tonight. I swear I didn’t. I never would have-.”

Thor forces himself to smile. The last thing he needs is a Big Serious Conversation, not when he’s already feeling shaken and fragile. “No worries,” he lies. “It’s fine. It seems like everyone’s pleased to see him. That’s what the holidays are for, no? Catching up with people?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says. She rolls her eyes and - not for the first time, either - Thor can’t help but think she and Loki would have made great siblings. Except for how they probably would have killed each other long ago. “Screw _everyone_. Are _you_ happy to see him?”

It’s the same question he’s been asking himself since he invited Loki across the threshold. All these months hoping to have exactly this happen, and yet all he feels right now is- tired. Tired and a little sick, really. “I’m glad he’s okay,” Thor tells her. “Beyond that, I don’t know. I- I have a lot to think about.” He shrugs and half-smiles. “Maybe. Maybe I’m reading into this and I won’t need to think at all.”

“He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to smooth things over,” she says. Her face looks worried and a little sad, even with the brightest red lipstick Thor thinks he’s ever seen.

“Fair enough,” he concedes. “But I don’t know if he can. Hey,” he exclaims (with a powerful rush of relief he hopes comes across as genuine enthusiasm) as Hilde breezes in from the kitchen. “Have you and Darcy met one another? Hilde here is the mother of your nail polish aficionados,” he explains to Darcy. The women smile brightly at one another.

“Your girls are awesome,” Darcy gushes. “I think you should adopt me.”

“I hope you’ll excuse me, ladies, but I need to go check the buffet,” Thor says as he takes advantage of the welcome opportunity to slip away. And then he does hurry off to check the tables, so his sudden escape feels less like lying.

~

Everyone mingles. It’s a joyful party, all happy stories and best wishes and fervent hopes for an even better new year. Spirits are high. For once no one is more than pleasantly tipsy.

Odin, who wasn’t on the guest list, doesn’t party-crash and wreck things.

For the last hour of it, though, Thor spends most of his time guiltily wishing everyone would just _leave_ already. He can set aside the worst of the cleanup for morning, but his guests are very generous and there are bound to be a lot of leftovers to deal with. He’s managed to dodge Loki for the most part; they’ve exchanged enough polite small talk that Thor thinks he’s avoided being outright rude, in case that matters. Still, even that small amount of contact has left him drained and reeling.

Consequently, he’d happily _kiss_ the person – whoever it was – who suggested they all go caroling.

“I feel bad leaving you to deal with this mess,” Pepper tells him as everyone starts collecting their things and bundling up.

Thor smiles. “Thanks,” he says, “but I’ll be fine with it. You just make sure nobody gets arrested.”

~

“Sorry, kitchen’s closed,” he tries to joke as Loki stands by the pantry door, fidgeting awkwardly. “If you’re quick you can still catch the carolers.” He isn’t sure if he wants to talk with Loki at all. That, and he’s dead certain he’s not in the right headspace for a deep conversation. “Oh, and thanks for the chocolates. Everyone loved them. Here, let me get your coat.”

Loki frowns. He closes in for a hug that - right now, with everything – just isn’t welcome. “I was hoping we could talk, now that we’re alone.” He studies Thor’s face for a moment and then leans in as though he’s hoping for a kiss.

"No," Thor says. He gently disentangles himself from Loki's arms and pushes the two of them a step or two away from one another. Loki sucks in a little breath that’s almost a gasp. But Thor- he just can’t.

"Look, I love you," he starts. This sucks, but he owes it to them both to say it. He’s not doing anyone any favors by letting the same ridiculous dance play out over and over and over. "I do. I really, really do. But I don't think I can do this anymore. I know you've gone through some really shitty things," he hurries on, not letting Loki interrupt, "and I know my father is an ass, and I for sure know I fucked up royally. And I _am_ sorry. You did warn me early on that you don't do relationships, and I let the way things were going lull me into forgetting. That’s on me. No," he says a little sharply as Loki tries to talk over him, "let me finish. I know all of that, and I love you anyway. But I've always done my best to treat you right, and after everything it seems like I've earned- if not a 'goodbye' when you're leaving, at least a 'hey, I'm here and I'm fine' when you get where you’re going. But apparently I haven't… and I’m not okay with that. So, go- wherever it is you hole up these days and think things over. And if you decide you can give me that much, you let me know and- and then I'll see how I feel about it."

Loki's face is white. His mouth is open and one tear trails down his cheek. Thor wants so, so very badly to wipe it away… to pull Loki into a tight embrace and kiss it all better. He doesn't. He can’t, not on his own. Not if Loki isn’t willing (or able) to help him.

"Look," he says (again) instead, "I really am sorry. But I can't live my life never knowing if you're dead somewhere. So, goodnight," he says with finality as he steers Loki towards the coat rack. "Let me know what you decide, if you want to. And no matter what, know this: you're my friend and I care about you."

~

Thor’s proud of himself, too. He is. Really. Because it isn't until he hears the gravelly crunch of Loki's car backing down the driveway that he breaks down and really starts bawling.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talkers talk, writers write.

Thor carefully unfolds the letter and smoothes out its precise creases. It's written on nice, heavy paper, the kind that people who really, really wanted the job once used for their resumes... back when resumes were still submitted in print and not just sent electronically. Under his reading light the paper is a pale, delicate green. Loki's gold-leaf-edged black LL monogram stands out sharply against the soft color, much like it does on the envelope's flap.

It's pretty.

So is Loki's handwriting.

He's put the letter back in its envelope twice so far today. Without reading it. It's almost time to go home now, though, so he grits his teeth and vows to get the whole thing over with. If he needs to melt down afterwards, he can… without embarrassing himself or screwing up his workday. So, with a few deep breaths and a bit more completely unnecessary smoothing, he squares up the pages with shaking fingers and begins.

_Thor, I'm so sorry_ , Loki starts off. _I thought about- what you'd said about us for the rest of the weekend and you're right. You do deserve better._

Thor doesn't like the sound of where this is going. Not at all. Having other people thinking for him never helps, somehow. And as much as he might rather pretend otherwise, he has to blot his eyes before he can see clearly enough to read on.

_You've never given me reason to think you don't have my back, or that you find my past off-putting,_ Loki continues, in lovely script. _And I do see that I can only put myself first for so long before I'm bound to end up alone with me. So, you may be wondering why I'm looking out for myself yet again and writing rather than facing you. And I won't blame you if you don't believe me when I say "it's not about that." I'm going to say it anyway, though: it really isn't about that. I'm just a better writer than I am a talker._

_Believe it or not!_

_Not that you would know that from this babbling mess, I suppose._

Thor does smile at that, even if it's just a little and not for long.

_Anyway... I didn't shut you out for any better reason than habit, and I know that's not nearly reason enough. You're not any of my exes. Um, I mean, I hope you're not the newest one. You know what I mean. No? Humor me, then. I need to treat you, and what I hope we still have, as something new and unique and special. Because it is, and you are. This deserves more than my same old shit, doesn't it? You don’t have to answer that… I already know._

_It was wrong of me to corner you at the house, with company over. I feel safe there, which calls to me, but it's your safe place too. And first. I should have respected that. I do respect it. Bottom line? I fucked up, Thor. It probably sounds empty and trite by now, but I truly am sorry. I would love a chance to do better._

_If you're willing to consider extending me that chance - or you just want to talk and get some closure - I'm going to be a stereotypical starving writer for the next week. That is, my laptop and I will be spending quality time with the lovely free wifi at that nice coffee shop at Fifth and Main. It's the place with the amazing curtains, and I'll be in situ daily from noon to 8:00 PM._

_I hope to see you there. If not, Darcy will at least be pleased with me. I'll have worked an honest week for the first time in- forever? Shh!_

_I love you._

_I'm sorry._

_I miss you._

_Let's set down some rules this time, and I'll do better._

_Hopefully yours,_

_Loki_

Thor folds the letter gently and puts it away, this time to protect it from the tears.

~

He wants to go tonight. 

But he knows better. He'd just found Loki's note this morning, in its old-school protective cellophane wrapper, under his truck’s driver's side windshield wiper. It hadn't been there the evening before; he knows that for certain. So: it’s been barely a day already, and Loki did say a week. In other words, Thor knows, he has time.

Time to think things through properly. Time to show he's taking it on faith and not assuming Loki will bolt after one night spent waiting. Time, too, to let Loki prove the whole thing isn't a ploy.

Because it isn’t. It simply can’t be.

~

Thor eventually pulls himself back together. He has dinner with Sif, at an all-night diner a couple of blocks from the office. “Loki wants to discuss things,” he tells her. “I’m thinking about letting him.”

Her forehead wrinkles. “Do you want to talk about it,” she asks him.

He doesn’t. She nicely doesn’t push for anything else, anything he doesn’t feel like sharing. “Take care of yourself…” That’s all she says.

“Yes,” he promises her. “I mean to.”

~

After a night of broken, fitful sleep – bad dreams, night sweats, lots and lots of tossing and turning; he clearly remembers assuring Loki that he’s never given up on anyone, and he can’t help but see how what he said after the party just doesn’t support that – Thor drags himself out of bed and gets ready for work.

There’s no note on his truck this morning. He’s not sure if he should feel reassured or sad. Or frightened. _Think of something else_ , he orders himself. And doesn’t. In the end he resorts to simple bribery; if he works hard but still feels like following up with Loki when the end of the workday (finally) comes, he’ll stop by the coffee shop and see what happens.

~

“We’re going out for drinks,” Fandral tells Thor just before quitting time. “You should come with us. It’d do you good to get out of the house, at least this once.”

“Maybe later,” Thor hedges. “I have an errand to run first, and I’m not sure how long that will take me.”

“An errand, eh?” Fandal cocks an eyebrow.

Thor silently dares him to continue. Fandral wisely doesn’t.

~

5:42 PM finds him pacing back and forth outside the coffee shop. Loki’s car is in the lot out back. Thor can’t decide whether walking in or bolting is more terrifying.

Ultimately he goes in. The door chime rings and he cringes, but no one in the place seems to hear it.

Thor looks around. _There_. Loki is sitting in one of the armchairs near the fireplace. He’s surrounded by a messy circle of notes and filing. His computer is balanced on his lap; he’s typing away frantically. His hair is in a messy ponytail, with loose curls everywhere. He looks good enough to eat, and then some.

Thor’s heart- well, it probably doesn’t stop for real, because he’s somehow still breathing. And standing. Just the same, it feels that way.

“Um, hi,” he says when he gets within a few feet of Loki’s chair. He feels- lame. Awkward. “I- uh, I got your letter.”

Loki looks up at Thor; his face is the face of an angel. “Oh, my. I’m so glad you came.”


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate, and fragile little things.

Loki closes his laptop and slips it into his bag. He hastily gathers together some of his papers, enough that he can lean over and scoot a nearby club chair closer to his own. "Here," he suggests, patting the seat. "Sit. Please?"

Thor isn't sure he's ready. "I'm going to get some coffee first," he says. It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do and say, even if he’s really just stalling. "Want something?"

Loki purses his lips. The overall effect is far too kissable. Thor looks carefully at an imaginary spot between his eyes. "Hmm. Just a black coffee," Loki says. "And I wouldn't turn down something chocolaty." He starts to dig for his wallet, then, but Thor waves it off.

"Don't worry about it," he says. He stops himself just in time and doesn't add _next one's on you, then_. They need to talk before he gets ahead of himself. Or something. "Back in a sec, okay?" Thor spins on his heel and heads for the counter before Loki has any chance to answer.

The coffee is hot and rich and good. The little bag of chocolate croissants is better. Thor tries not to watch as Loki licks greasy fingers and chocolate-smudged lips... he isn't sure if he's being played. If he is, it’s not happening. But if he’s not, well, what’s the rush? There's still plenty of time to go there.

"So," Loki says around a finger. "Sorry. Um, you read my letter." His voice wavers; at that, Thor does glance up. Loki's face is pink. "Pretty stupid, I know."

Thor shakes his head. "No," he tells Loki. "It was fine. Nice. I liked it."

"I suppose you're here and that's something." Loki takes a bite of his croissant and chews slowly. "Mm. So good. Um, I guess I don't know exactly what you need from me, but I- I have some things."

"Things?" Thor squints. He isn't here for _things_. He's not at all clear on what's happening, or how he should be feeling about- whatever this is. Things. Whatever’s going on.

"It's not _bad_ stuff, silly." Loki smiles. He's even pinker now. "I mean, I hope it's good. I meant it to be. Here," he adds, twisting to pull a thick envelope out of his bag. "You open, I'll explain."

The envelope’s flap is just tucked closed. It isn't any work at all to get at the contents. Thor leans his forearms on his knees to hide the way his hands are trembling. "Show," he says, picking out a small square of paper embossed with Loki's monogram. "Tell."

"That's a phone number," Loki says. "Duh, I know. It's the unlisted number for the place where I hide when I can't stand- myself, I guess, anymore. The only other person who has it, besides maybe an ancient friend or two of my uncle's, is Sigyn. My-."

"Yeah," Thor cuts in. He doesn't want to hear what Loki might call her. Not now. Maybe _not yet_ , maybe _not ever_. "I know."

"Even Darcy has to go through her to reach me there," Loki says. "So- this a big thing for me, you know? But you're right." He swallows; even in the cozy mood lighting Thor can see his throat working. "You are. It's not fair of me to take off and strand you with no way to get in contact. So now you can. Go ahead, take another thing."

Thor tips the envelope up and pours out a silver key ring sporting three well-worn keys: two Best keys and a car key. Not the fancy fob clicker kind, just a metal one. Collectively they lie cold and heavy in his palm.

"This is my place in town," Loki offers, touching one of the Best keys. "And this is Ye Olde Secret Hideaway." One corner of his mouth quirks as he smiles unevenly up at Thor. "Obviously," - he points to the last key - "this is my car. So if you can't reach me, or my phone is off, or you just want to see for yourself... now you can hunt me down. Here.” He picks up the ring and slips the keys into Thor’s breast pocket. “Next."

The air feels- thick. Thor's starting to choke up. This is so far from whatever he might have expected that he can't even process it. He pulls out another small slip of paper. It looks and feels handmade, with soft, uneven edges and subtle flecks of color. On it is written a set of numbers.

"That's the place," Loki says. "The map coordinates. I don’t think it has an address… and I wouldn’t- I don’t think I could write that down anyway. I’d be afraid someone would come across it. Okay, one last thing and you’re done,” he adds, nodding at the envelope. “Go on.”

When Thor first shakes the last object free of the envelope, he can’t quite figure out what it is. He prods it gently with his thumb. It’s almost like a rounded thimble, except the open end- isn’t. He digs out his phone to use as a makeshift flashlight.

The thing in his hand is a tiny metal birdcage, with an even tinier door... hinges and delicate clasp and all.

Inside the cage is a diminutive red glass heart, puffed and sparkling. Thor opens his mouth to say- something, anything. In the end what comes out is more of a whimper.

“So, there you have it.” Loki shrugs. He reaches out and very gently closes Thor’s fingers around the little cage. “My heart. My secrets. I know I have a lot more to tell you – maybe we have a lot more to tell one another – but I-.” He falters. “I wanted to give you something important. More than just a token of-… oh, forget it. Fuck. I don’t know.”

“Shh,” Thor soothes. He has to clear his throat. “Don’t say that. It’s- lovely. It’s just a lot, and- I need- give me a moment, okay?” It _is_ a lot. He’s overwhelmed. It’s sweet. It’s terrifying. He wanted trust. Wants it. But he wasn’t expecting- this kind of power, maybe. “I just don’t know what to say.”

Loki looks away. “Oh. I hoped- I hoped you’d be happy.”

Thor takes a deep breath, and then another and another. He shuts his eyes. “I think I am,” he says. “I’m just surprised.”

“I had a lot of time to think,” Loki says. He breaks off a tiny piece of croissant, chocolate filling and flaky crust, and offers it to Thor. “And to feel like an ass. I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Thor’s lips brush Loki’s fingers. For several seconds they both sit frozen, until Thor reaches up with his free hand – the one that isn’t holding a tiny heart in a fragile metal cage – and carefully encircles Loki’s slender wrist with his own warm fingers. He can feel Loki’s pulse flutter against his palm. “Thank you,” Thor says. “I feel like I don’t have anything to give you in return.” He doesn’t. He really didn’t come prepared, not for anything like this.

Loki ducks to kiss Thor’s knuckles. “Would you consider giving me another chance, maybe?” He nuzzles Thor’s wrist. “That would be far more than a fair exchange.”

“Why,” Thor blurts out. “Why do you even want it?”

“Because I love you,” Loki says into the skin of Thor’s forearm, so quietly that Thor can barely hear him.

Thor nods. “Mm,” he hums. He can’t see the point in lying, not anymore. “Me too.”


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talking, finally.

Loki traces a finger up the sloping side of his glass, through the tiny bubbles of condensation and the blurred haze of sloshed beer. This place is a friendly, homey pub but not a particularly neat one. The drinks are poured with an abundance of cheer but far less aim. "Is the pool still heated?" He looks up and back down, quickly. " _Your_ pool, I mean."

Thor reaches out and lays his fingers over Loki's hand, the one that isn't busy playing with the wet glass presently. "Just enough to protect it if we get a night or two below freezing," he says. "It's not going to be fit for swimming until spring."

"Mm," Loki hums. He's watching his beer, expression pouty and sad. "Seems like that dip at the base of the waterfall would make a perfect hot tub."

"Oh, it would," Thor agrees. It's nothing he hasn't considered… many times, even. He remembers wondering if a nice warm pool in the winter would be enough to lure Loki back home. "But it's a lot of money to sit out in my yard alone, you know? I can soak in my amazingly large, awesome bathtub whenever I want, and filling the tub is a whole lot cheaper." _Not that I wouldn’t heat the pool for you, baby. Anything you want. Absolutely anything. As in, don’t ask because right now I don’t think I can say no to you_.

"I guess it would be more fun to share," Loki acknowledges. He tips his head back and takes a long swallow of his beer. Thor reaches out and traces the very edge of his jawbone chin-to-ear, lightly; they both shiver. Loki swallows again. "Did you get rid of my stuff?"

"What? No!" Thor’s voice rings out; it’s a whole lot louder than he’d intended. Two of the four women in the booth opposite theirs look up, startled. He smiles at the bunch of them and mouths "oops, sorry. No," he tells Loki in something much, much closer to a normal speaking voice. "I packed it all up neatly in a few boxes, because seeing it everywhere- I couldn’t. It hurt. And besides, I wanted to be ready if Darcy showed up unexpectedly to claim it. But, no. Never." _Wait_. "Why," he asks carefully. "Do you want it all back now?"

Loki shakes his head. His hair brushes Thor's hand, the one still hovering near his face. "Of course not. I just- no. I shouldn't say it."

"Please?" Whatever’s going on in Loki’s head, Thor does want to hear it. He thinks again of the tiny heart in its tiny cage, wrapped in crinkly tissue and tucked into the smallest truffle box the coffee place could give them for safekeeping. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I was getting ahead of myself." Loki wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. "Whew. I was- if you were to have me over, I was wondering if I still had a toothbrush. And- loungies. Something soft to sit around in."

"Yes," Thor says. He tries to keep his ragged breath quiet. "And it's _when_."

"Hm?" Loki's nose crinkles. "You lost me. When what?"

"Not _if_ I have you over," Thor explains. He wishes he hadn't been so quick to send their server away when his own beer had needed a refill. "When. Because there’s no question about it. I’m going to invite you."

Loki collapses facedown onto his own arms. "Oh, god," he says into the crook of his elbow, rather wetly. "God. Okay, I guess we should actually talk, then, instead of just screwing around here. So. Talk, yeah. What do you need from me to be okay with this?"

_I always was okay_ , Thor wants to say, but that's not wholly true and it's not at all useful. "It would-." No, that's wrong. " _I'd_ really like it if you didn't feel the need to bolt every time I screw up even the smallest bit," he tries instead, "but I'm guessing that's not on the table presently." Maybe someday. "So... realistically, contact me within a day if it's not me you're running from? And reach out to Darcy instead – in the same timeframe – if it is." Thor looks at the top of Loki's head, at the silky soft black hair spilling out over the cradle of Loki's forearms. "That’s all. Can you do that?"

"I can still go," Loki asks the tabletop. "That's okay with you?"

"I'd rather you said goodbye and just excused yourself," Thor says. "Rather than running. But, yes. Of course you can go. Jesus, Loki... I don't ever want you to feel like a prisoner."

Loki clears his throat, then snuffles. It’s not nearly as loud as Thor’s accidental yell must have been. "Within a day. One day. Okay. Yes. I'll do that."

"Thank you," Thor says, simply. He strokes Loki's hair. There's nothing good coming of pushing and prying, especially not with what he’s gained already, as in: Loki's numbers in his wallet and Loki's keys in his pocket. "And what about me? You, I mean. What do _you_ need?" They’ve gotten this far, haven’t they? Thor fervently hopes whatever Loki asks for is- is nothing too awful.

"This is going to sound dumb," Loki warns. He shifts in his chair and props his chin on one forearm, up on the meatier part of it. "Don't laugh, okay?"

Thor smiles, as nicely as he can. "I'll try not to."

"When I'm being- difficult, can you text me and remind me you love me? Assuming you still do love me at the time, I mean" Loki clarifies. He does laugh, but it feels more self-protective than genuine. “Because that would mean a great deal to me. See? Stupid.”

Thor scoots his chair closer to Loki’s. It bumps and thuds over the uneven floor. “Hey,” he says against Loki’s temple. “Not stupid at all. And of course I will. What else?”

Loki leans into Thor and sighs heavily. “Nothing, I guess. Can we just start there and see where it gets us?”

“Mm.” Thor slings an arm around Loki’s shoulders and pulls him closer. “Yes, I think we can.”


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making peace, and splashes.

Darcy flicks her wrist. The stone hops five-six-seven times before it vanishes below the water's surface. "Show-off," Loki half teases, half grumbles. She's always been a hundred times better at this than he is. Not atypically his own stone gets off to a bad start and disappears on the first bounce with a wet _clop_. "See? I suck."

"I've heard that about you," she shoots back. "Hey. You have the love of your life back. Knock it off with the wallowing."

This hardly constitutes wallowing in Lokiville; not even close. Darcy knows it, too. Loki sticks his tongue out at her and then lets another stone fly. This one is flat and smooth and perfect. It catches an edge and sinks anyway. She snorts. "Good thing you're better at life than you are at skipping stones," she kids him.

Loki sighs. "If only."

Darcy catches him by the hand and spins him around until he's facing her. "How _is_ it going," she asks, peering up at him. "Are you okay with things this time?"

_I was okay with all of it before_ , he thinks. _I'm just ridiculous. Ridiculous and stupid_. He doesn't say that, because he doesn't want yet another lecture about how his suck-ass attitude isn't making life any better. Even if it's true. Especially then. "It's good," he tells her. "I don't feel as- afraid of what might happen these days. Of him giving up on me."

"I know I’ve said this before, but Thor really doesn't seem like the _giving up_ kind." Darcy lets go of his hand and bends to pick out another thin, flat rock. She hefts it, one corner of her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and then flips it end-over-end in one palm. "I think this one's a winner."

Loki's not sure if she means the relationship or the stone.

She's right about the stone, at least. It’s too soon to know about him, and Thor.

~

He's been trying to write at his own place. Thor had suggested that they start out slow and feel their way into it, rather than rushing headfirst back to where they were and then finding out they'd run headfirst into the same old trouble. It's a smart idea, even though Loki hates it, and if (since) he has to choose he'd rather sacrifice his days apart than his nights together.

So, he works in his home office. And sometimes - not every day; just often enough to keep it playful - Thor stops over midday with a little treat.

When Loki isn't around, Thor leaves him a little something anyway. A stuffed animal. Some chocolates. An individual-portion-sized container of warm, fresh small-batch kettle corn. A glass of wine. A tiny scrap of paper bearing a hand-drawn heart, or carefully embossed with the Morse code for _I love you_.

Loki grouses about how he feels like he's being wooed - no, plied - with cat toys. He kind of does, really. But in actuality every little gift makes him smile. And although he knows each one means Thor's been in his place - alone and unsupervised; anything could happen - Loki doesn't feel afraid. He doesn't feel violated.

That has to mean something.

~

In the sixth week after Loki'd, well, either lost his fucking mind or finally come to his senses... depending on the angle of the light... Thor texts him at lunchtime to invite him over later. This time around Thor's been giving him lots of choices: does he want to get together or not? The house or a restaurant, or even a movie? With friends or alone? Stop by, stay over, play it by ear? Today’s approach, though, is different. It's not an _order_ or anything. It’s really just more of a suggestion. 

_i hope u come over later - have a surprise for you_

And then a minute or so later, the comforting (if unnecessary) disclaimer:

_if that sounds okay_

Loki returns the text with a call. "Sure," he says. He's nervous, little butterfly flutters in his chest and stomach, but it's a good kind of nervousness this time.

Anticipation.

It’s delicious.

"Is it something I need to dress up for," he asks. "I don't want to accidentally show up scruffy."

Thor laughs. "Scruffy is fine. Wear something comfortable."

~

It's a chilly night, still more winter than anything approaching spring. As Loki drives past the side yard he’s surprised to see the torches going. "Maybe I should have worn something warmer," he says as Thor gathers him in for a hug and a quick kiss on the forehead. "I wasn't expecting to commune with nature."

"You’re fine," Thor assures Loki. He disentangles himself enough to gesture towards the backyard with one hand while steering Loki with the other. "You’ll be warm enough. Come see!"

As they duck around the corner of the house, Loki’s eyes see but his brain doesn’t process. There’s drifting, swirling steam rising from the faux creek, the pool, and the waterfall that joins them. It catches the torchlight and glows. It’s especially hazy at the base of the waterfall, the steam there so dense that it reminds him of dry ice.

“I started heating the pool a week ago,” Thor announces, proud and smiling. “It took forever, but now it’s perfect. We can soak in it. Or swim, even, if we want to.” He kisses Loki again, on the mouth this time and not nearly as quickly. “Whatever you’d like.”

Loki takes Thor’s hand and leads the way to poolside. Up close, the entire water feature is the stuff of fantasy. He squats carefully in the fog and stretches an arm out to test the temperature. “Oh, lordy,” he whispers as his fingers make contact. The pool is bathtub warm, even right here at the foot of the falls. After all those weeks spent in the cabin, with no real way to cook and cold-water showers, this feels like the very peak of luxury. “I can’t believe you did this,” he tells Thor, “for me. It’s amazing.”

“I think I need to test it out,” Thor says. He grabs the back of his sweater and tugs it over his head in one pull. “Wouldn’t want you to burn yourself. Or- freeze, or something.” He slips out of his pants, socks, and boots nearly as efficiently. Before Loki has time to properly register how beautiful Thor looks naked in the torchlight, he’s hitting the water with an impressive splash. “Just like the good old days,” he calls out, laughing. “Except this time I’m hoping you really do join me.”

How can he not? Everything about it is perfect. Loki rolls his eyes in faux disgust, sure, but he unbuttons his shirt just the same.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never?
> 
> \-----
> 
> Lost and found.

It’s spring for real before the first time happens. Well, the new first time.

They’ve spent at least a couple of nights a week, every week, playing in the pool. Heating the water has turned out to be so, so worth it… maybe a thousand dollars invested over the course of the season has brought Thor an incalculable boon in splashing and laughing and the hot slide of naked bodies one against the other. They’ve soaked and swum and played ridiculous games of two-person volleyball in the pleasantly warm water... and engaged enthusiastically in some of the closest thing they’ve had to full-on sex since they’d very first started dating in it, too. Watching Loki flushed pink and grinning ear to ear as a tossed ball sprays him full in the face is the kind of thing Thor simply cannot put a price on.

No one can.

It’s been wonderful. They’ve had the best time. Thor would pay for it all over again - pretty much whatever it takes - just to see Loki happy.

~

Initially, when Loki doesn’t show up at the house in time to enjoy spending time in the pool before dinner, Thor doesn’t think much of it. Getting together hasn’t really been an everyday thing, and they’ve been keeping their arrangements informal. He pulls on a pair of trunks – skinny-dipping solo never seems worth the risk, even in the hottest weather when it’s at its most tempting; he’s certainly not going to chance it this time of year – and lowers himself carefully into the water.

The days are warmer now, enough so that (not just the bushes right along the water, but also) the trees are budding, but the nights are still crisp and cool. Thor always likes this part of spring; the contrast is lovely. Once he’s in the pool the simple act of floating feels like heaven and that alone is enough to distract him until well after darkness has fallen. Eventually, though, his stomach reminds him it’s (past) time for dinner. When he pulls himself up out of the water and runs the chilly gauntlet back inside, he’s surprised to see how late it is. _He’s busy, that’s all_ , Thor tells himself, now that it’s clear Loki won’t be coming over, but it’s not enough to stave off the first tiny thrill of fear.

And once it hits him, Thor can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. It has to be.

Nothing should be – the two of them haven’t even spoken and it’s any old weekday, nothing special - but still. He just _knows_ it. Something must have happened.

That night for the first time in ages he watches the late news on his computer. Thor’s never bothered to get a decent TV for this place, certainly not in his bedroom, but tonight he can’t rid himself of the feeling that disaster has struck and he needs the reassurance of seeing that it hasn’t.

There haven’t been any car accidents. No John (or Jane) Doe murders or assaults. All in all it’s been a pretty slow news day, really. In fact, the only segment that isn’t a yawner dissecting this or that mild corruption in local government is the last one. It’s an update on a big coup: a dramatic arrest following an early morning jewelry heist that’s said to have taken place a few hundred miles east of the city. “State Police apprehended a man believed to be Thanos, taking him into custody alive after a two-hour armed standoff,” the pretty blond anchor explains. “Thanos, who goes by just the one name and who has been called the most powerful crime lord of our generation, has been the focus of an extensive manhunt spanning five years and eighteen states. He is wanted for grand larceny, assault, human trafficking, forgery, and second-degree murder,” the anchor continues. “Our governor released a statement at 5:00 PM thanking our police for their service and calling the apprehension of ‘one of the single most dangerous criminals of this century’ a significant event worthy of recognition.”

From the footage this Thanos character is a big guy, and not a particularly attractive one. There’s something compelling about his knowing smirk, though. According to the story he’s wanted (most recently) for his key role in stealing a set of mismatched gemstones that play an (obscure, but) important part in upholding national security. Thor can only assume there’s more to that bit than anyone is telling.

As it stands the whole things sounds overblown and a bit ridiculous. Thor rolls his eyes at the screen and then shuts down his laptop.

He’s tired as hell. It takes him forever to fall asleep anyway.

~

Everything about the past day nags at Thor while he’s trying (and failing) to get some work done.

It’s not like Loki to go off the grid without provocation, especially so abruptly. They’d been fine two days ago, with Loki looking forward to finishing a long story and having a few days to enjoy life afterwards. There hadn’t been anything off about his morning texts yesterday, either.

By lunchtime Thor can’t stand the suspense anymore. 

_miss u_ , he texts. _hope nothing has happened_

Loki doesn’t answer.

~

 _Twenty-four hours_ , Thor reminds himself later in the afternoon. That’s the timeframe the two of them had agreed upon. At the time it had sounded reasonable. The fact that it’s driving him fucking crazy now is- well, it’s something he’s going to have to get over.

At dinnertime the email finally comes.

 _I’m sorry_ , it reads. _I had to get away, and there wasn’t time to find you first. It’s not you, not at all, and I haven’t forgotten my promise. I love you_.

It still feels like a punch in the gut. The whole business sucks, however he looks at it. He feels hurt and, more to the point, helpless. But he does have to admit it; this is certainly a big step up from just being abandoned.

 _Thank you for letting me know_ , Thor writes back. He wants to sound calm and supportive… and nonthreatening. _I hope you will be okay. Please… don’t hesitate to ask if there’s any way I can help you_.

 _You’re awesome_ , Loki replies, _and right. About so much. Thank you for everything_.

It’s a note Thor treasures, which is fortunate… because it has to last him what ends up feeling like a very, very long time.

~

Sixteen days later, and yes he very much _is_ counting, Thor finally gets another email. Sixteen long, miserable days spent sending unanswered emails, distracting himself, biding his time and cursing the day he'd ever thought an arrangement like this could be bearable. Sixteen nights of holding a tiny, caged heart in the palm of his hand and fighting not to cry himself to sleep.

 _Hey_ , Loki’s message says. _I miss you. I’m not able to come home yet. Would you be willing to visit instead?_

Willing? Would he ever. _Of course_ , Thor sends back as soon as he reads the email. As he’s hurriedly packing up (which is not easy… he’s so excited and nervous that he’s all thumbs) and getting ready to leave the office he searches out the coordinates Loki’d previously provided. No, Loki hasn’t promised to be there. But it’s really the only location that makes sense given the circumstances. The place isn’t all that far away, either, probably an hour’s drive from the house… it’s perfectly doable.

~

 _On my way_ , Thor sends an hour or so later from his own kitchen. He’s packed a quick bag, just in case, and he’s only got one stop left; he’s bringing some wine and wants to pick up a few biscotti. _See you soon. I love you_.


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunion.

Getting there hadn't proved all that tricky. Thor'd been a little bit worried about cellular coverage - he knows from unfortunate experience that Loki is pretty unreachable by cell phone out here, and he (in hindsight, stupidly) hadn't thought to ask why - but in the end he'd actually been able to use his GPS app all the way in. Now, though, he's stopped along the edge of a bumpy dirt road looking at an endless parade of impossibly tiny driveways. It's dark, and there's a lot of vegetation. On top of which it's early enough in the season that most of the cottages probably aren't even open, meaning there wouldn’t be lights to see anyway. And while some of the places do have little wooden signs, that's no help either... not when he has no idea what he's supposed to look for.

It's certainly well-suited to hiding.

He digs for his wallet and then remembers: back when they'd first started seeing each other again, he'd programmed the cottage's landline into his cell phone.

"Hi, it's Thor," he says into the silence. He knows the line is open – it’d stopped ringing, for starters, and it has that odd vacuum-like feeling analog phones tend to foster - but no one has spoken and it's making him jumpy. He's abruptly glad he hasn't shut off the engine. Zombie Apocalypse and all that. His voice breaks a little as he adds "I'm looking for a friend."

"You're alone?" It's Loki's voice, but flat and formal.

"Yes," Thor assures him. "It's just me. And dessert. But I'm not sure where I should be turning."

"Oh, jesus," Loki exclaims with considerably more feeling. "I'm so glad you're here. You're on the lane somewhere?"

It's hard to know. "I think so? There are lots of driveways with summer-place-sounding names," Thor volunteers. He's sweating. Shaky. "But I don't know which one to look for."

"Read me a few," Loki tells him.

Thor turns on his phone's mock-flashlight. He probably should have brought something more useful. "Rowboat Landing," he says, squinting out into the velvety black evening. "Bernie's Beach. Lookout Cove." The rest are too far away to make out without disembarking, and it's a little dark and creepy for that. "Does that help you?"

"Mm," Loki hums. "Drive past three more sets of driveways, until you see the mailbox that looks like a sailboat. That's not quite where I am, but it’s easy to find. Stop there and I'll walk out to meet you."

"Bring a flashlight," Thor hastens to add.

"Um, duh," Loki says. Thor smiles. That's better. He puts the car into gear and pulls up to their meeting point, then shuts off the engine and peers nervously into the darkness.

When Loki taps on his window, Thor screams like a little girl.

"Holy fuck, you scared me," he hisses into the finger-width crack open at the top of the glass as Loki laughs hysterically. At least, it sounds like Loki. He can't see a goddamned thing. "You told me you were bringing a flashlight."

"And I did," Loki says, flicking it on for just long enough to blind Thor with it. "But I didn't say I would turn it on. I know my way around out here. Trust me."

"Get in the car," Thor pants. He can't control his breathing, and almost doesn't remember his manners. "Please?" It isn't until Loki thunks the handle that he realizes he needs to unlock it.

"I hate you," Thor huffs as Loki settles into the passenger seat still laughing. Loki's wearing a dark hoody and darker pants; even under the dome light it's a bit hard to see him. That, and Thor is still seeing purple-yellow spots anyway. "I love you, of course, but I still hate you."

Loki reaches across the console to lay a careful hand on Thor's jeans. His fingers are freezing, even through the heavy denim. "I'm sorry," he says. He actually does sound contrite. Still, Thor probably lost a solid year's life expectancy a couple of minutes ago. "Living where you do, I wouldn't have pegged you as someone darkness bothers."

"I'm not," Thor grumbles. "It doesn't. I was just keyed-up and- Loki, I've been scared," he stresses. "I've worried about you." He grabs Loki's hand. "And you're frozen!"

"I'm fine," Loki says. "Maybe I should have my gloves on."

"Let's get you back inside," Thor tells him. It will be nice to stretch his knotted muscles, after all this excitement. "Where it's warmer."

"Oh, it's not," Loki tells him. "But if you're planning on staying a while I can get a fire going."

The driveway is even more overgrown than its neighbors, which probably suits Loki's purposes nicely. It's hard to see much on such a moonless night, but as they step out of the car Thor can hear the gentle lap of the water close beside them. "It's no palace," Loki warns as Thor holds the outer door open for him with a knee while he fiddles with the lock on the inner one. "But I’m not sure you could find a better location."

The place is not as dark inside as Thor'd expected. Loki has several kerosene lanterns going - the fancy lamp-style, low-smoke ones you can actually read by - and they give the… great room, maybe, or whatever they called them in the 1920s… a warm, homey glow. There's lots of reddish-gold paneling and a huge fieldstone fireplace along the inside wall. The cottage has the same pungent, good/bad smell Thor remembers from his grandparents' summer rentals. "This is nice," he says. He can finally talk properly again. "I like it."

Loki snorts. "It's a rundown dump," he says. "Go ahead. You can say so. You won't hurt my feelings any."

Thor looks around again, at the solid woodwork and the nice arched ceiling. "At least it has a roof," he says, "and no pigeons. I do like it." He does. "It has tons of potential."

"That's my Thor," Loki says. He steps closer and leans against Thor's shoulder. "Still hate me?"

Thor nuzzles Loki's hoodie aside and licks the cold shell of an ear. He laughs softly as Loki squeaks and shudders. "A little," he teases, because of course he really doesn't.

"Set that stuff down," Loki instructs, dropping to his knees at Thor's feet and reaching for Thor’s fly. "I'll make it up to you."

They can have dessert later. They can talk later. It's fine. As Loki unfastens his pants, Thor pets Loki's hair and tries his level best not to say one single thing.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catching up, a little.

Thor yawns and rubs at his eyes with the heels of both hands. Neither he nor Loki had gotten much sleep last night; true to Loki’s earlier observation, it was _cold_ in the cottage. And while sleeping on an air mattress (“The beds here are gross,” Loki’d explained as they’d struggled to get the pump going, “really gross. You’ll just have to take my word for it”) a few feet away from the slowly dying remnants of their fire had sounded good – and romantic - in theory, in reality it had meant a whole lot of baking on one side and freezing on the other.

That, and they’d gotten a really late start on sleeping to begin with; their first priority had definitely been getting reacquainted. And not in the _talking_ sense, either. No, they’re both sore and exhausted today. Even so, Thor’s the happiest he’s been in weeks now. Or, at least, he would be if he didn’t have a mountain of work to take care of.

Yeah, okay. He’s still pretty damned happy regardless.

Loki is somewhere off towards the other end of the cottage writing. It’s Friday, and he claims he owes Darcy a story by Monday morning. Considering Thor has three conference calls scheduled today, along with a proposal to finish, they’d decided over breakfast (yes, breakfast; the first of Thor’s calls had been at 9:00 AM, so there hadn’t been much opportunity for lazing around or even garden variety dawdling) that it was best just to work through their obligations and put all that behind them. Afterwards, they can relax and have a real weekend.

“All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy,” Thor had teased as they’d scarfed down almond butter (“I store it outside this time of year,” Loki’d explained. “When I’m only here for a few days,” he’d added, and Thor’d had to carefully stifle a relieved smile, “it’s not worth trying to get the propane fridge going”) and toast in the chilly kitchen. It’s a cheery, functional place. The walls are lined with nicely crafted open cabinets; the floor sports vintage linoleum.

“Indeed, but then again all play and no work make Johnny homeless,” Loki had reminded Thor. “Plus, I don’t know where _you_ were last night, but I remember plenty of high-quality playing in _my_ bed already. And on the rug, and on the table. Not to mention the saggy old chair under that creepy moose head.” Thor’d had to concede that one. Ultimately they’d shared a good laugh and a better kiss, and then gotten down to (actual) business.

The cable isn’t on, but Thor’s phone supports tethering. For what he needs to do, a hot spot is fine. He’s settled in at the big wooden table and – when he manages to tear himself away from the view out over the lake – is getting nearly as much accomplished as he would in his office.

He’d still rather be playing.

~

“Do you want to go into town with me?” Loki stands in the doorframe, laptop tucked against his chest. Once Thor’d buckled down and finally started concentrating, the day had flown by; it’s hard to believe it’s after 4:00 PM already. “I need to send this stuff to Darcy, and I thought we could get something to grill for dinner. Unless you want more toast, of course,” he teases.

“There’s a _town_ ,” Thor blurts out without thinking. “Sorry! I mean, when I drove out here yesterday evening it looked pretty isolated. Not even rural.”

“It’s small,” Loki admits. “And you wouldn’t have driven through it, not coming from your place. _Town_ is probably a stretch, anyway. But there’s a cute little store with organic produce and decent meat… and a library. With real Internet access and everything. Cottager heaven. Except the library closes at 5:00 PM this time of year, so we need to get ourselves moving.”

“Is there a gas station,” Thor asks. He should have fueled up before coming all the way out here; unfortunately, his mind had been elsewhere. If he can’t get gas nearby the drive home will be a nail-biter.

“Think _old-fashioned country store_ ,” Loki tells him. “They have everything from hopelessly out-of-style overalls to propane. And gasoline. And kerosene. And probably even grenade launchers, if you know what to ask for.”

Thor laughs. “Just gasoline should be fine. Sure, I’d love to. I’ll even drive. Just tell me how to get there.”

~

Loki’s assessment is spot-on. The local library is- functional. The store, though, _is_ cute, and it has a surprisingly good selection of the kinds of things he likes to use in his cooking. “In the summer this is a pretty high-end area,” Loki explains when he wonders how such a remote spot can support it. “Lots of hoity-toity rich people from up in the city. I’m surprised your father doesn’t have a place here.”

They get one nice thick steak to share – leftovers are pointless when you can’t refrigerate them – along with sweet potatoes and onions and a few spotless mushrooms. Thor would love to add a salad, but there isn’t any lettuce. Which makes sense; it’s not in season and doesn’t hold all that well. The broccoli looks perfectly decent, though. He opts for making do with that instead.

~

“So, whose place is this,” Thor asks Loki on the drive back to the lake. “The cottage, I mean. I know you said something about your uncle,” he prompts when Loki doesn’t answer. He’s been wondering what sort of uncle would let a child go homeless after bad foster care, and yet still be okay with that same child hanging out in his mostly-abandoned summer place. And it would probably be smart to know it if they’re likely to find themselves getting arrested.

“He’s not really my uncle,” Loki says quietly. “He was one of the case managers in our foster system, the only one who really seemed to care about us. Sigyn took to calling him my uncle, to cut down on the awkward questions, and it’s a habit I never really fell out of. It was nothing like _that_ ,” he adds when Thor’s eyebrows shoot up. “He was really just a case manager, and really just nice. Think favorite teacher, not scary pervert. Darcy and I have stayed in touch with him over the years; he says it makes his life worthwhile to hear that some of his kids made it.”

“And he doesn’t care that you’re squatting on his property,” Thor asks.

“I’m not squatting,” Loki says, a little sharply. “We have a deal. He’s in assisted living these days; his health doesn’t allow him to get out here anymore, not even once or twice a summer. He pays the taxes; I serve as his eyes. And as long as I fund whatever services I’m using, he’s fine with me staying out here. Really.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Thor says. He didn’t mean to be an asshole, either. “I just- I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” The very, very last thing he wants to do is fight, on their own time and in Loki’s safe haven. Especially over something so- pointless.

Loki sighs. “It’s fine. I guess I’m just a little touchy about it.”

“Be that as it may,” Thor tells him, “I’m still sorry.”

They ride in silence for a few miles, until Loki starts whistling softly along with the radio and it feels like things are back on track again. “So do you think he would let us fix the place up,” Thor asks hopefully. “If we paid for it with our own money?”

“You’re hopeless, you know,” Loki says, but he does laugh. Thor lets himself relax again. “But I can ask him. Maybe?”

~

This is Loki’s domain, so Thor lets him take the lead on dinner. Loki starts the grill and stands outside looking out over the water, a beer dangling from his long fingers. Thor alternates between watching him and helping get dinner ready; seasoning the steak, slicing mushrooms and onions, and prepping the broccoli for steaming. “You should come out here,” Loki calls through the screen door at the back of the kitchen. “That will wait. The light this time of day is amazing.”

It is. They stand together on the stone beach; Thor wraps an arm around Loki’s shoulders and holds him close. Together they watch the sun disappear below the horizon.

“Are you here because it’s lovely,” Thor asks once nature’s lightshow is all but over. He’s not in a rush to get back inside… this early in the season, there aren’t any bugs to contend with.

Loki snorts. “You know I’m not,” he says. “At least, that’s not my _only_ reason. Now go get me the steak, and a clean plate.” He snaps his fingers. “If you’re good, _maybe_ I’ll consider filling you in over dinner.”


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki does some explaining.

Initially Loki is determined to get through dinner - he's played at being calm and in control all day now, and if this is going to be the end he wants to have one last lovely meal to remember - before he spills his guts (figuratively) to Thor. By about a quarter of the way through the meal, though, he's really only making headway with his wine and Thor is starting to peer at him quizzically. And on top of everything, he's so wound up that he's in real danger of spilling his guts literally as well... and that is absolutely _not_ how he wants to leave off. Not for either one of them.

He sets his knife and fork down very carefully, lined up neatly across the back of his plate, and clears his throat. "Look," he says, which is stupid because Thor is already looking. "I'm sorry. I guess I just need to lay this out there and be done with it."

"Hm?" Thor's chewing, but his brows come up and he gestures _go ahead_ with his own cutlery. He looks interested. Maybe even sympathetic.

_We'll see how long that lasts_ , Loki thinks. He wants to cry. Or scream, maybe. Instead he folds his hands in his lap. When that doesn't help, he rocks back and forth a little and sits on them. "Look," he instructs again. His brain is fucking failing. "Please just hear me out on this. And then you can- I don't know. Yell. Leave. But if you interrupt me my head may explode. I'm sorry."

Thor's expression has quickly gone from interested to concerned, very concerned, but he simply nods.

_No_ , Loki shrieks internally. _Talk me out of it! Tell me you don't want to know! Tell me that – no matter what – you love me._ But that's completely unreasonable, given what he's just very precisely and specifically asked for.

It’s too late to beg for ignorant bliss now. Perhaps it always has been.

_Deep breath_ , he reminds himself. _Time has run out. You have to do this_.

"You've probably seen the news," Loki tries. He stares at his silverware, at the window, at the fireplace; anything not to have to watch Thor's face. "About- about Thanos." That name. He can barely choke it out even now, all these years after having been... violently sworn to silence. "About the arrest, about the heist. And I don't know how much you've followed the story over the years... and no no no I don't want you to interrupt and tell me." Loki pinches the back of his own thigh, hard. So hard he very nearly whimpers.

"I used to- well, I thought I was in a relationship with him. With Thanos. And I guess I was... except it turned out to be a business relationship, not a personal one. And the business was- me.” Loki has to stop for a moment and try to collect himself. This is not a story he tells, not to anyone. He can barely even recount it here, to Thor (who’s gotten a few hints of it already). “I remember talking about how he was my pimp,” he goes on, not waiting for Thor’s reaction; he just keeps on going, right over top of the little noise Thor can’t quite hold in.

“It was- I suppose it was worse than that. He had me convinced that if I loved him – and at the time I thought I did, although I eventually realized that it was _need_ instead of love – I would do whatever he and his friends wanted. That they- they were my friends too, and we were all in the same game together. But I was really-… I don’t know.” Loki’s voice breaks and he has to stop again. He shifts a quarter turn or so, enough to come down clear of his plate, and sinks forward until his forehead clunks against the table. “They worked for him, I guess,” he tells his lap. “And I was one of the perks in their benefits package? Something like that.”

“Loki,” Thor rasps. His chair squeaks as he leans on the table. “I’m so-.”

“Don’t,” Loki snaps. “Don’t interrupt me. He had his guys stealing shit and killing people and risking their own lives, and each time they brought something to a successful end they- they got another chance to take all that fear, all that frustration out on me. Sure, he kept me in a nice place and bought me nice things. But none of it was really for me. It was just part of- of the set. Of the wrappings. I wasn’t the sugar baby, even. I was the candy. The fucking bait.”

“And when I did finally reach the end of my rope and try to put a stop to it, that was the point where the last vestiges of _asking nicely_ fell away.” He’s not sure when he’d even started crying, but the tears are flowing freely now. They’re dripping along the edge of the table and then down onto his pants. “He had a couple of his guys lock me up in my fancy little palace and drug me. I don’t remember much of it – and believe me I don’t want to - but a month or so later I came more or less back to myself to find I’d been gifted with my own set of- marks. Scars.” He shrugs, head rocking against the tabletop. “Identical to the ones his lieutenants wore, like- like prison tattoos. They made me one of them in every sense that mattered… to ensure I couldn’t escape. No one who in a position to help me would ever believe I hadn’t been involved in- in all the shit they’d done.”

It had hurt so badly, in so many ways. That part, he’ll probably never be able to explain. Not to anyone.

“Except- Darcy. She knew me too well to think- well, anyway… she got me out. I pretended it was just a normal breakup, got myself a few restraining orders at her insistence, and then fell clean off the face of the planet. And every time I think it’s all fucking gone, so far behind me that it’s really gone forever,” – he chokes back a ragged sob – “one of his lackeys pops up again to remind me that it’s _talk and die_ until I do one… or the other. And I can’t carry this kind of baggage around, Thor, not with a fucking backhoe. I just can’t. I can’t carry it, and I can’t set it down, and I can’t dump it on someone. I would never expect-.”

Loki jumps as Thor’s arms close around him. He makes a token attempt to struggle, to wriggle free, but Thor’s petting his hair and stroking his back and he really just wants to melt into it.

“So,” he says instead, with grim finality, “you can go now. If you put enough effort into pretending you never met me, maybe they will leave you alone.”

Strong, capable hands tug Loki up from the table to pull him closer. Gently, lovingly. If he lives to be a hundred Loki- he- he’ll never understand what about him could possibly deserve such _care_.

“No,” Thor whispers. “I won’t let that happen. I can’t. Never.”


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working through the aftermath...

For a long time they just sit in silence together and let the emotional dust settle. Thor keeps a firm grip on Loki; he feels far too much like, if he lets go, Loki will melt away to nothing and this – the cottage, being reunited, even Loki’s awful tale - will all have been a dream. He’s heard some stories, certainly; when the family business was his grandfather’s, security wasn’t something people conducted at a comfortably impersonal distance and messy work was _messy_. Still, Thor just- he can’t fathom what it must have been like to go through what Loki’s had to endure.

He can’t imagine doing that sort of thing to someone you claim to care about.

And he can’t imagine caring so little – not even the barest minimum - about someone to do it either.

“You’re not cut out for a life of crime, then,” he can picture Sif telling him over lunch. And perhaps he isn’t. Not that he wants to be. But Thor’s known a lot of criminals over the course of his life and he’s reasonably certain most of _them_ would not have been up to doling out the sort of cold-blooded mistreatment Loki’s suffered either.

It’s just not the sort of thing you do to people. It’s certainly not the sort of thing you do to runaways and homeless people. And, sure, it may well not only be that Loki’d been in the proverbial wrong place at the equally proverbial wrong time – Thor considers himself a realist and Loki is both sharp and devious – but even so… no one deserves that sort of treatment. No one.

Especially not the quietly weeping person huddled limp and damp against his chest.

Thor pushes Loki’s hair back and tucks it behind the arc of a pale pink ear. Loki’s black mop is a riot of soft curls tonight; he’s clearly not wasting generator power running the flat iron or the blow dryer. Which is fine, really. It’s more than fine. Thor loves Loki’s hair loose and touchable anyway. It looks nice on the rare occasion when he _does_ it, sure, but- it’s nicest this way.

“Hey,” Thor says. “Are you-.” He stops himself; it’s a ridiculous question. “I wish there was something I could do.” In the long run there is, of course; he can win Oden over and then enlist his father’s help in ensuring Loki is safe from this Thanos asshole (and any associated henchmen). Not just now, but for the rest of their lives. If anyone has that kind of reach, it’s Odin Borson. Thor knows he can’t reasonably expect that Loki will believe any of that, though. And given all this history he no longer has to wonder why his attempts at fixing everything aren’t always taken in the spirit in which he intends them. He sighs. “I hate it that so much of your life has been wasted protecting yourself from this.”

Loki snuffles quietly. Thor grabs a napkin and gently wipes Loki’s face. “Shh,” he whispers. “It’s okay now. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“I don’t get it,” Loki says into Thor’s shirt.

Thor tucks his hair out of the way and rubs Loki’s shoulder. “Don’t get what,” he asks. Thinking logically is a little too challenging. He’s numb, except for the parts where he’s very, very sad.

“I don’t get why you’re still here.” Loki shifts closer. He’s practically in Thor’s lap now. Between them they’re sprawled all over the chairs.

“I love you,” Thor says, simply. “And things like this just make me-” _want to rip someone’s face off_ , he thinks to himself. “They make me want to take care of you even more.” He hauls Loki off the other chair and up onto his thighs. “And that makes me want to feed you dinner.”

“You’re an idiot,” Loki huffs, but he’s laughing for the first time since the two of them had finished cooking.

Thor smiles. He stretches up to press a soft kiss to Loki’s temple. “Maybe I am,” he agrees, “but I’m _your_ idiot.”

~

They finish their dinner, slowly, with Loki perched on Thor’s lap and Thor doing all the cutting and forking up for both of them. While it’s not very warm anymore, their food is well-seasoned and tasty and the act of working their way through it is calming. Peaceful. “Thank you for telling me what’s been going on,” Thor tells Loki as he sets his fork down after the last bite of mushroom. “And more than that for trusting me. I know it can’t have been easy.”

Loki shrugs. He’s sagged comfortably against Thor’s front. The whole arrangement would be perfect, were it not for the hard wooden chair back digging into Thor’s shoulder blades. “I guess it’s better this way,” Loki says. “At least, it’s better now that you haven’t run off and left me.”

“I won’t,” Thor assures him. After everything they’ve been through it’s an easy, easy promise to make. “I’m with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

They kiss, despite how doing so leaves Loki’s neck twisted a little awkwardly. Thor marvels yet again at how someone who has gone through as much as Loki has can still give of himself even this freely.

He doesn’t think about it long, though, before he’s utterly lost to the kissing.

~

“We should take the rowboat out.” Loki stands on the ridge of grass above the stony beach, surveying the water. It’s still dangerously cold – for people without wetsuits, at least – and Thor’s more than a little terrified about going out in it.

“Shouldn’t,” Thor corrects. “This water is freezing. We could die out there.”

Loki nudges his shoulder. “Fine. We probably could, but we aren’t going to. Here, wear a life jacket, sissy.”

Thor takes the thing and lets out the webbing one strap at a time. “I don’t think they made this vest with me in mind,” he tells Loki, laughing. The sun is shining and it’s Saturday and it feels _good_ to be alive. Loki’s right. They’ll be careful. They’ll be fine.

“Well,” Loki tells him, “they should have.”

~

It’s a surprisingly nice morning after such a spectacularly horrible evening. They do row, until Thor’s hands are blistered and Loki’s nose is pink from the sun. As promised, there’s no dying. There aren’t even any close calls.

When they can’t row anymore, the two of them walk hand in had along the shoreline. Thor asks about skipping stones. Loki refuses with a vehemence that startles him.

It really is all good, though. They find plenty of other things to do instead.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reality doesn't look so bad from a safe distance.

They follow a nice day spent playing outside with what turns out to be an even nicer evening. Loki drives the two of them into town this time, just as the sun really starts sinking low in the sky. They grab a nice assortment of vegetables for grilling - "we have enough kabob skewers to serve an army back at the cottage," Loki tells Thor, who opts not to ask what the skewers might serve that army as, or for - and an even nicer assortment of regional cheese. The bread looks fine; maybe not quite as amazing as the baked goods his neighbor manages, but it's fresh baked... rustic and crusty and wonderful-smelling. They grab some of that too.

Just before they turn around and head back out of town Loki stops off at a cute little wine shop. They poke around for a minute or two and then pick out a couple of bottles of sauvignon blanc. It's not summer, but the mood tonight is summer _y_ and they both feel like making the most of it.

They simply couldn't have timed the drive back to the lake better, either... Loki crests the last hill at the exact right moment. Thor's not sure he's ever been quite so thoroughly wowed by a sunset.

Preparing dinner is (starting the grill – Loki defers and lets Thor do it this time - and) a lot of cutting and tossing in good olive oil and skewering. It's just mindless enough work to keep them busy without discouraging conversation. They start off talking about the near-term future (Loki will get the cable turned on, which Thor's a little surprised is even an option out here in what feels like the middle of nowhere; in return Thor will "work from home" at least a day a week and will come down to the cottage both then and on weekends) and eventually move onto a riskier topic: the longer-term plan. Once Loki feels safe again, he promises, he will come home. And after that they will talk to his "uncle" about buying the cottage, to see if that's even an option. Because no matter how safe Loki does or doesn’t ultimately end up feeling, it would be nice to know they had this place forever. And nice to fix it up some, too.

They get into the wine. Thor goes out on a bit of a limb and follows the _feeling safe_ discussion with a few broad hints around involving Odin. "He must know about all of this," he points out. "Your- Thanos, I mean, not this place." He privately suspects his father knows about the cottage too, along with a hundred other fine points Loki hasn't yet seen fit to mention. "I know we didn't get off to a good start dealing with him, but he could help out if that's what we needed. _Wanted_." He doesn't push the whole thing, and Loki doesn't freak out or yell or make threats. In fact, they just continue on with the rest of a perfectly normal conversation. Thor will still ask for overt permission before he talks to his father; the risk is simply too high, and he wants to carefully reassure Loki that any forced choice between them is an easy _no contest_. Even so, the topic itself could have been an absolute showstopper.

It isn't.

That's _good_.

~

The dock furniture isn't out yet, but they bundle themselves in smelly wool blankets against the chill and huddle together on the screened-in porch to listen to the water and eat dinner. Thor is still feeling ridiculously giddy about having successfully talked through all that Really Hard Stuff without a hint of a meltdown; Loki - despite Friday's worries - seems to have set his troubles aside well enough for the time being. They're both relaxed and peaceful and able to take a lot of pleasure in one another's company. It's pretty damned close to paradise, if you think about it.

They spend some time lazily making out on the porch, but the combined promise of the fire Loki'd set (and started) just before dinner and a chance to get out of the blankets (and, yes, probably some clothing) ultimately lures them back inside. Thor pours more wine; Loki produces some impossibly delicious fudge from a small container tucked away in the kitchen. They rinse their plates, but they can't seem to stop with the hands or the mouths. In the end they concede: the rest of the cleanup will simply have to keep until Sunday.

~

Practice does make perfect, in that – after three days – Thor’s learned to inflate the air mattress quickly and efficiently. From what he’s gathered, Loki normally just pumps the thing up on arrival and then steps over and around it for the rest of the stay… it’s only because the two of them are both in residence that the stupid mattress has to be put away every morning and resurrected every night.

It’s a bit of a nuisance but Thor does know he’s not a small guy. Having him here is probably a bigger imposition, at least in terms of noise and occupied space and- general loss of freedom, than Loki is letting on. And he’s gotten the whole inflating game down to about five minutes. It’s fine. While Loki pokes at the fire with a medieval-looking miniature pike, Thor blows up the mattress and wraps it neatly in the (relatively speaking) fresh, crisp sheets Loki must have brought from home.

And when Thor gets to enjoy watching as Loki strips down to bare skin and slides between those nice clean sheets with a happy sigh, it suddenly doesn’t feel like all that much work anyway.

Especially once Thor undresses and joins him.

With the fire still going and Loki pressed against the back of his body from shoulders to knees, he’s not the least bit cold. Or uncomfortable.

Okay, maybe he’s a _little_ uncomfortable when Loki, emboldened by the wine and the close, close quarters, pushes two fingers into him without sufficient prep, lube, or warning. It’s worth it, though; he’ll make do. And like it.

Tomorrow night he has to go home. Tonight, he’s in heaven.


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odin doesn't help, but he doesn't do anything drastic either.

Thor folds his arms across his chest. "Look," he says, not even bothering to cover his mounting frustration. They have talked around this for an hour now and he is just fucking _done_. "I have every intention of continuing to see Loki for as long as we can make what- what we have between us work. Which I hope will be a very long time." He shifts his weight from foot to foot and leans against the doorframe. He's opted for standing over sitting, in part because doing so feels more _powerful_ (and the remainder thanks to how his rear end is feeling a little tender… the last thing he needs to do in the middle of this conversation is wince at just the right (wrong) time and remind his father exactly what being gay can mean). "So you can either help me do whatever needs to be done to keep him safe - to keep _the both of us_ safe - or you can go on pretending this isn't real and live with the consequences."

Odin glares at Thor, craggy brows low over his good eye and lips pressed into a thin, colorless line. "And you think you know what you're dealing with, do you?"

"As I said before," Thor reminds his father, "I do. I know about his family, and his ex-wife. I know he dated Thanos and, yes," he goes on as Odin starts to take exception, "he may even have worked for the guy. And I know it's rare that someone in that position is a pure, lily-white, innocent victim." He drops one arm and lets his hand dangle, encircling that elbow with his other hand. More open, less defensive. Less argumentative. Less threatening. "But I have no reason not to believe him when he tells me what happened. I know him. I love him. I've seen him triggered and devastated. I'm going to do what it takes to protect him. To shelter him from anything he'll let me. You aren't going to talk me out of it; don’t even bother trying."

Odin taps his fingers lightly on the rim of his glass. "And you don't care what this could do to the company? To your family?"

Thor swallows. "That isn't it. Not at all. I care very much about all of that. Except- well, I care about Loki more. And I have faith that the best way to help him is the best way to help us," he adds, letting go of his arm and gesturing back and forth between the two of them. "By pooling our resources and facing whatever happens together."

Odin laughs, without the least trace of humor. "And what resources, exactly, does your little stray bring to the table? For those of us who have no interest in his lips on our pricks, I mean."

This time Thor has to count to ten. He keeps going all the way to twenty-five just to be on the safe side. "He's survived all this time," he offers, "and stayed employed. Oh, and won the support of some really good friends… one of whom I've known all the way the back to college."

"Darcy," Odin says, more politely. "Darcy Lewis. That one’s smarter than she lets on."

"She knows her shit," Thor tells his father. "And she knows people. She's not the sort to, as you so like saying, _back a loser_.”

The muscles in Odin's face shift and jump as he clenches his jaw. Thor braces for- something. Cruelty. Anger.

The kind of slur that invariably leaves him wishing the two of them were in no way related.

"You're where you are because of me, Thor Odinson," Odin points out. “Me, and my father before me. Don’t you dare forget it.”

There's no gain in arguing _that_ one. "Oh, I know," Thor agrees. He does know, and he doesn't. "And never think I take that lightly. But this is who I am."

~

“So, the world didn’t end? Are you sure?” Loki laughs. Thor hates it that he can’t be out at the cottage; that he can’t see Loki’s body language, can’t tell how this is really setting. “Maybe the apocalypse is already underway and you just haven’t noticed.”

Thor scrubs at his face with one hand. _I miss you more than ever_ , he thinks. It hasn’t even been a full day since they’d last seen each other – he’d planned to drive home Sunday evening, sometime shortly after dinner, but one thing had led to another and dinner had led to cuddling had led to sex had led to sleep… and when he’d finally woken up groggy and sore at 2:00 AM, driving home had no longer felt worth it – and already he’s struggling with being apart.

They can make this work; he knows it. Can and do and will. It just sucks.

Especially at times like this, when he very much wants to have a serious conversation about important things and be able to monitor how it’s going. “Maybe,” he tells Loki, “but I doubt it. Even Odin isn’t _that_ well connected.”

Loki laughs again, harder. “Too bad,” he says. “Maybe if he was, the gods could fix this for us. The _awful people Loki used to know_ problem, I mean. I don’t think you and I need fixing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Thor kids. “Speak for yourself.” He rubs his eyes and yawns. It’s been an emotionally draining day. He’s exhausted. “Sorry. I’m dying here.”

“I miss you,” Loki says, and Thor abruptly wishes he’d been brave enough to say it first. “Oh, and they’re turning on the cable tomorrow. In case you- you know…”

Thor smiles. As news goes, it doesn’t get much better. “I’ll come down tomorrow night, then,” he says. “I can work from home on Wednesday.” It’s not like Odin normally comes looking for him, and he’s pretty much free to come and go as he likes anyway. Everyone above a certain level is, really; it’s one of the things Borson Secure does to attract and retain quality people. And of course it never hurts to be the owner’s son, even when the owner is a little annoyed with you. A lot annoyed. “If that’s okay with you, I mean.”

“Of course,” Loki assures him. “I wish you were here now. You really think he’s okay with us?”

“Odin? Probably not,” Thor admits. “Give him time, though,” he suggests, with considerably more confidence than he feels. “He’ll come around.”

“And if he doesn’t,” Loki whispers. His voice breaks a little. Thor wants so badly to reach out and hug him.

“No worries,” Thor promises. “If that’s how it works out, we’ll get by just fine on our own.”


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sif wants to help.

The morning moves along fast enough. Thor has several meetings, including one where he has to give a short presentation, and it’s lunchtime almost before he has time to catch his breath. He hadn’t planned to share a meal with Sif, but she’s at the salad bar putting the finishing touches on a very delicious looking spinach salad – with almonds and mandarin orange sections and something that looks like goat cheese, and a little bit of the good balsamic vinegar they both keep in their offices – when he hurries down to the lunch room. He waves. She beckons him over. Just like that, he’s having a salad of his own. And conversation, too.

“So, how did it go,” she asks when he gives her a quick rundown of the previous night’s proceedings. “Did he chew you a new asshole?”

Thor shakes his head. “No,” he says. “He didn’t like what I had to tell him, and he was all over my story looking for holes, but-… I don’t know. I don’t know how it went, I guess.” He doesn’t. He isn’t sure if he won or lost. He’d half expected to get to the office this morning only to find that his badge was no longer working. “He thinks I’m being stupid. Says I’m risking things that aren’t mine to risk. _The family_.” He frames the words with big, exaggerated air-quotes. “You know, the guilt trip crap. The duty crap.”

“Odin can be pretty full of crap,” she agrees. “You know that’s all it is, right?”

Thor sighs. “I do,” he says. “And you’d think I’d be used to it. But the veiled threats get me every time.”

Sif laughs, sharp and bitter. “Which is exactly why he resorts to them.”

She’s absolutely right. All Thor’s life Odin has been able to play him like a violin. By this point it’s just stupidly annoying. “At least he didn’t haul out the _dead mother_ bit this time,” he says. His tone is nearly as ugly as Sif’s. “Or maybe he’s just saving it for the next round. Because everything comes down to that in the end.”

This time she doesn’t even smile. She looks- sad, probably, and a little shocked. “He _says_ that to you? That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s his ultimate weapon, telling me how upset my _dead mother_ would be if she found out about- well, whatever awful – to my father’s way of thinking – thing I’m up to at any given moment.” Thor shrugs again. He’s a little angry, although at what he’s not even certain. “I suppose I deserve it. I used to always throw the whole thing in his face, how she was cut down right the fuck” – he pauses for a moment and looks around; he’d said that quite a bit louder than he’d meant to, and they _are_ at work, after all – “in front of him and all the big, bad security company mojo in the world couldn’t save her. I was so angry back then. I fucking hated him. I hated everything he was and everything he stood for.” He shakes his head. “But that was a long time ago and I got past it. I get it now; he was hit as hard by her death as I was. He still is. He just shows it differently.”

“And I understand that,” Sif tells him. “I do, and the whole thing is horrifying and sad. I don’t know _how_ he’s managed to get to a place of peace. I’m not sure I could. But none of that justifies being cruel to you”

“I don’t think he means to be.”

“Whereas _I_ ,” Sif insists, talking with both hands now as her salad sits untouched in front of her, “think you give the old tyrant the benefit of far too many doubts.”

Thor sighs. He looks at the backs of his hands and then the palms. “Maybe I do,” he says. “I want him to mean well, underneath it all. I want him to care. He’s my _father_.”

Sif gives him a sympathetic hum. “When all’s said and done, do you think he will help you?”

“I hope so,” Thor says. “But if I have to, I’ll go to Balder.” He forces a little smile. “My brother doesn’t care who I fuck.”

She frowns. “Do you really think that’s what this is about?”

“Oh, yeah,” Thor assures her. “If Loki was some girl, Odin would be all over saving her.”

Sif rolls her eyes. “I dunno. It seems like Loki could deliver a top notch _damsel in distress_ impersonation if he wanted to.”

“Yeah,” Thor agrees. “For sure.” His smile this time is a little closer to authentic. “But don’t let him _ever_ hear you say that.”

“Odin?”

“No,” he says, but he can tell from the look on her face that she’s joking. “ _Loki_. He’d eat you alive.”

~

“You do know I’ll help in any way I can, right,” Sif reminds him as they collect their things.

His chair squeaks against the dark tile. “I do,” he tells her. “And thank you.”

“You’d do the same for me,” she says, and she’s right. “Hey, tell you what… I’ll talk to my brother.”

~

The afternoon drags. Talking to Sif made the wrong things real again, and Thor has (a conference call at the very end of the afternoon, of course, because that’s how it always seems to go… but, before that) nothing but endless paperwork to occupy him. “Looking forward to seeing you in a few hours,” he says when Loki calls to say hi.

“Mm,” Loki agrees. “It’s nice down here tonight. Warmer than it’s been. So, yeah… hurry home.”

~

Thor- does. He leaves work immediately following his call. He has his overnight bag packed and in the car, and Loki’s already done the dinner shopping. All it takes is a quick stop at his baker neighbor’s to grab some really good bread – and some perfect orange scones for tomorrow morning – and he’s on his way.

The drive is uneventful; fast (although it doesn’t seem that way, not when he hasn’t seen Loki since the weekend and life has been so stressful) and easy. It’s not even dark when he passes the sailboat mailbox and turns to bump his way down the cottage driveway.

Loki runs out to meet him. He leaps into Thor’s arms; Thor staggers back a couple of steps as Loki wraps around him like ivy. “I brought… you bread…,” he says, between kisses, “for dinner. Your favorite.”

“Mm,” Loki says. “That’s nice.” He kisses Thor again, hard. “But, even better, you brought me _you_.”

Thor nuzzles into the hollow at the base of Loki’s throat. “When did you get so sappy,” he teases against Loki’s warm skin. It _is_ a nice night, and for once Loki isn’t freezing.

“Shh,” Loki chides. “Don’t tell!”


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor give Loki a little family back-story...

Loki's made a delicious-smelling chicken stew - something loosely French, the kind of thing you might find burbling merrily away on the stovetop in a centuries-old Provençal Mas - and it's in that final stage where it just needs the occasional thorough stirring. He ooohs and ahhhs over the bread Thor'd grabbed before leaving, and with good reason; it's a dense sourdough seasoned with rosemary, sea salt, and olive oil, one that couldn't have been more perfectly complementary if Thor'd chosen it on purpose.

Which, of course, he hadn't. He's no mind reader. It definitely is nicely serendipitous, though... that much Thor can say for certain.

"So," Loki explains between kisses, "dinner should simmer about another half hour. A little longer would be even better. This old thing" - he angles his head towards the heavy cast-iron stew pot - "does its best work unhurried." He kisses Thor again, very thoroughly this time. His fingers on Thor's face smell of fresh garlic; his mouth tastes like good red wine. "Meaning we have more than enough time to- um, _take the edge off_... if you find you're so inclined."

Thor is, of course. But he'd had a short cell phone chat with Sif just after he'd left the bakery – yes, on the hands-free unit - and he wants to do the difficult talking before he loses his nerve. Before the good excuses _not_ to talk start really piling up and he can’t muster what it takes to drag himself out from underneath them. "You have no idea how good that sounds, but," he starts, stalling out as Loki pulls back abruptly to study his face with frank concern. "Oh no no, it's nothing bad," he soothes, right away. Even though that's arguably only half true, at least in the near term. "Sif talked to her brother and they both thought I should ask you a couple of questions. Hey, no, don't look at me like that! They want to help, I promise. And they also want me to tell you a story." He leans in to rub noses and then lightly kisses Loki's cheek.

"I'd rather blow you," Loki grumbles. "I can guarantee that would be better." There's no hiding the apprehension behind his gruff bravado.

Thor hums softly. "I'd rather you blew me too," he admits. "But we should get this out of the way. I'll find some way to make it up to you later."

"You'll do the dishes later is what you'll do," Loki threatens.

Thor smiles. He will, and then he’ll still make it up afterwards. He pets Loki’s hair. "Gladly."

Loki sighs. "And there's no way you can be persuaded," he asks. He looks up at Thor – sweet, demure – and then quickly back down again. His black lashes make kissably soft little fans just above the sharp ridge of his cheekbones. Thor does kiss them, first one and then the other. The delicate skin of Loki’s eyelids is impossibly soft against his mouth. Inside his own mind, he groans. There are so many nicer things they could spend half an hour together doing.

"Oh, I'm sure I can be, in a hundred ways," he says instead. "But we do need to talk about this. It may make some things easier."

"Riiight. Talk, then." Loki spins free of Thor’s grip and stalks over to the stove to stir the stew a little viciously. Steam hisses as condensation from the underside of the pot lid drips onto the cooking surface. "Go on. I'm listening."

Thor clears his throat (and, yes, adjusts his trousers... no good deed goes unpunished). "Sif's brother - Heimdall; I don't believe you’ve met him, but I know she’s mentioned him in front of you - says he couldn't help notice the timing: you left just before- before your ex was apprehended... which makes perfect sense…but then you've _stayed_ gone. Which- doesn’t. Thanos is in jail now. What's keeping you out of the city? Besides playing hard to get… and nature in all her glory," he adds, trying (and failing, if the stiff line of Loki's back is any indication) to lighten things up slightly.

Loki's shoulders sag. He lays his wooden spoon in the spoon rest, then turns to face Thor and shoves both hands deep into his pockets. "His guys miss very little," he says softly. "They probably know about you, and it wouldn't take a huge leap to draw the conclusion that I'm somehow part of why - of how - Thanos was taken into custody."

"Which you weren't," Thor reminds him.

"No, not that I know of," Loki agrees. "Not unless jealousy or something equally misguided made him sloppy. But that's not going to matter to Thanos or his lackeys. If I'm in town, we're both at risk. In fact we probably are anyway."

Thor takes a deep breath. "My father is _a king among men_ , as he likes to say. He and his people are- very well-connected," he says. He hates bringing this up, even now when Loki - who writes for a living and is likely no stranger to the power of research - probably already knows it. Some of it, anyway. "He can make it crystal-clear to- to Thanos' men that touching either one of us... or anything we care about... is such an incredibly bad idea that they'd be fatally stupid to try it."

"No one has that kind of reach," Loki argues.

"Yeah," Thor corrects, "they do." He pushes up to plant his butt on the counter. It's a solidly built old place; he needs to sit down for this, and he knows the counter can handle it. He shuts his eyes. "You know my mom is dead," he says, softly.

"Mm," Loki concurs. "And not of natural causes."

"Right." This is rough going. It's not like talking to Sif, who's been part of the whole story since the beginning. "Someone my dad had longstanding issues with killed her. In front of him. Only seconds from in front of _me_. After which my father called in some old favors and fucking obliterated the guy. He destroyed everything he could find, and wasn't particularly discerning when it came to collateral damage." Thor swallows, hard, and takes a deep breath. "The whole point was to send a message. No one was ever going to mess with those people dear to him. Never, ever again."

"Except I'm not particularly dear to Odin," Loki points out. "And at the moment - especially given the _why_ of your danger - you may not be either." At the flat, defeated note in Loki's voice, Thor risks a quick look at him. Loki’s face is completely blank.

This is hard for both of them, then.

"He talks a good line," Thor half agrees. "But he would never really risk my life. And in the event I somehow _am_ letting sentiment trick me into judging him too kindly,” he goes on as Loki, face still expressionless otherwise, arches one perfect black eyebrow, “believe me… Heimdall and Balder can be very persuasive."


	62. Chapter 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes an effort.

Loki- stands down, perhaps a little too slowly. There’s a point at which self-protectiveness starts to feel an awful lot like asshattery, especially when your partner is sitting on your kitchen counter pretending he isn’t fighting not to cry over thoughts of his dead mother. His _murdered_ mother, probably slaughtered in cold blood by someone Loki knows and has maybe even slept with.

It’s a point he passed several minutes ago, if not even longer.

He’s not sure he’d even noticed it whizzing by as he’d gone by it on the way out… but here on the way back it couldn’t be more obvious. “Hey,” he says, adjusting the cover on the stew pot so it traps the steam more effectively. “You’re right. I don’t even know your family. Or Sif’s. But the two of you have been great to me, so I should at least hear you out and see how things go before- oh, I don’t know. Writing everything off. Being a flaming asshole. That kind of bullshit. You know what I mean.”

Thor looks briefly startled and then smiles. His eyes shine in the faint light coming in from the living room. He holds his arms out wide and beckons Loki closer with the tips of his fingers. “Don’t beat yourself up,” he chides. “You have every reason to be cautious and- to not be trusting. Things don’t just go back to normal with a snap of the fingers, because we want them to.” He beckons again, and this time Loki shuffles closer. “On top of which you don’t even have any _normal_ to go back to. I at least had that much… my life had been pretty decent before my mom died. I knew what it was like to be safe and happy. Even when I couldn’t begin to imagine ever feeling that way again, I always had it there as a frame of reference.” His big, strong arms wrap around Loki; his lips press against Loki’s neck. “I think you’re amazing,” he says into Loki’s hair, breath warm and moist. “You’ve done amazing things. No one ever gave you a good reason to come back to the world and yet here you are.”

Loki snorts, but he doesn’t even pretend to shake the hands off his back or push the mouth from the angle of his jaw. “Exactly. Here I am, being pissy at the person I could hardly wait to see all day.”

“Stop, you,” Thor insists. “And if you can’t control it yourself, I’ll make you.” He follows his threat with a quick line of kisses along Loki’s jaw.

And then Thor makes good on his warning.

Loki’s protest dies in his own throat as Thor’s mouth settles over his. They kiss until Loki is weak-kneed and a little dizzy, until Thor is pushing him gently away and whispering “it’s probably time to stir the stew before we ruin dinner” into the little space between them.

~

“Just work with me on this,” Thor pleads as Loki gives their meal one last good mixing. “I don’t expect you to trust- any of us until we’ve given you reason to. But I hope you won’t write everything off without trying.”

None of what Thor’s suggesting is unreasonable. Loki shuts off the burner. And sighs. And nods. “I’ll try,” he says. “No promises. But right now we should eat dinner.” He _will_ try, too. As tempting as vanishing again might be, Loki knows he can’t get by without Darcy (who will _so_ blow him in; she’s come to really like Thor, and – to listen to her talk – to greatly appreciate the positive influence their relationship has had on Loki). That, and he’s spoiled… he’s not even sure he _wants_ a life that hasn’t got Thor’s sort of kissing in it. Quality kissing, the kind that makes Loki want things he’s always thought he would never have. Could never have.

He digs in the second drawer next to the stove for a ladle and only narrowly misses cutting himself on one of the big knives instead. “Hey,” he asks, because there are second chances and then there is abject stupidity, “can you get the lights? And then maybe a couple of bowls?” Because no one needs to know he’s inadvertently trying to lop off his fingers over here.

“Of course.” Thor hops down from the counter without much of a thud. “Watch your eyes, okay?” His voice sounds lighter too, somehow, and it hits Loki – hard, fast, viscerally – how badly Thor must have been wanting this.

The lights come on as he’s thinking, fingers safely out of the drawer now. Sure enough, the brightness temporarily blinds him.

~

“You’re a really good cook,” Thor tells Loki between big spoonfuls of stew. “Maybe I shouldn’t let you sit back and waste your talents on prepping quite so often.”

Loki smiles. It’s true; he isn’t a bad cook. Making something delicious is one of the ways he’d learned to thank Darcy, when he’d been trying to settle into something akin to normal life and had needed to find rewards that weren’t centered around sex (which she didn’t want; their friendship wasn’t about that) or money (since he didn’t yet have enough to do anything worthwhile with). And after he’d gotten halfway decent at it, preparing food had been one of the ways he’d treated himself when he’d needed to find something positive. He’d liked feeling capable and independent, especially given how he could barely keep himself fed and clean half the time.

But he likes Thor’s cooking – the ease with which Thor throws beautiful meals together from the simplest things – and, if he really thinks about it (and he is; he’s caught himself doing an inordinate amount of thinking recently, even given how it’s _him_ and all), he’s come to really like being cared for.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Thor sets his spoon down. His forehead settles into _worried face_ wrinkles. “You okay?”

“Mm.” Loki blinks. “Sorry. Thank you,” he adds, politely, because before he’d gotten lost in his own head Thor _had_ handed down a compliment. “I’m glad you like it. But I love watching you cook, and I enjoy helping you. So let’s stick with our system.” He smiles. “And, yes, I’m feeling better. I’m really glad you’re here. Now eat,” he adds, gesturing with a chunk of Thor’s delicious bread, “so we can talk about how you’re going to make things up to me later.”

Thor laughs, a big warm laugh that feels almost like one of his hugs. “I’m doing the dishes, remember? And after I clean that pot and re-season it, I _might_ just be too tired for anything further.”

“Ooh, that’s too bad,” Loki teases. And then he goes out on a limb, because he’s had a good bit of his wine and he’s feeling loved and daring. “Because I was thinking I just might let you fuck me.”

“In that case,” Thor says, and he’s still laughing but his voice catches, “maybe I’ll just have to pace myself a little more carefully.”


	63. Chapter 63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dishes get washed.
> 
> ~
> 
> Writing "M" semi-smut is so hard!

The stew pot has an impressively-seasoned finish. Another day, when they have more time – or, at least, sufficient patience; they have plenty of time now – to spend chatting, Thor vows he’ll ask where Loki learned to take such loving care of cookware. It’s a side of Loki that Thor rarely gets to see, and it’s nice; Thor very much enjoys watching handwork done with conviction. The pot boils clean in less time than washing the rest of the dishes requires. Afterwards it heat-dries on the stove’s biggest burner while Thor and Loki alternate between wine, more of the sinfully rich fudge from the previous weekend, and enough hard, frenzied kissing that Thor’s a bit worried they’re going to forget the drying pot entirely and burn the whole place down.

~

He feels much more comfortable getting lost in the moment once the burner’s off and the pot is slowly cooling.

~

“We could oil the stupid thing in the morning, you know,” Loki reminds him. “Or we could always _take care of other things_ now and come back to it afterwards.”

Thor nips Loki’s bottom lip and then kisses it rather ungently better. “We could,” he agrees, “but this” – he works a hand into the space between them and taps first Loki’s chest and then his own – “isn’t something I want to rush through.”

Loki smiles against Thor’s mouth. This close, his eyes look closer to black than green. “It’s that big a deal to you, is it?” He hiccups. “You should have told me. We could have been doing it all this time.”

“No,” Thor says, softly. He nips Loki again and smiles back as Loki winces. “I wanted it to be your idea, if and when you were ready.” They kiss, twice and then three times. “I would never pressure you, and I didn’t want to inadvertently remind you of- well, of anything.”

“Oh, believe me,” Loki assures him. Thor is backed all the way up against the wall, beside the door out to the stone patio, with Loki’s hands up inside his shirt and his skin tingling. “I’m ready. It’s what I want. Very much. And _now_.” Loki presses against him.

Thor wants Loki so badly that it’s a bit disorienting; he has to shake his head to snap himself out of it. “Let me check the pan,” he says. One thing at a time. “As soon as it’s cool enough to oil, we can get on with this.”

“If you were less stubborn,” Loki says, rubbing his own hips against Thor’s very, very interested crotch, “we could be getting on with it already.”

Thor catches hold of Loki’s wrists and wriggles free. He’s so turned on, it’s almost impossible to think rationally. He laughs. At least, he thinks laughing’s what he’s doing. “If I was less stubborn, we’d be done already. What fun would that be?”

Loki tugs and struggles; Thor gently but firmly refuses to let go of him. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Loki grits out, “honestly.”

“No, wait.” Thor shuffles the two of them across the kitchen, up to the front of the stove. “Here, feel this. It’s ready. We’ll be done in five minutes. On top of which our hands will be nice and slippery.”

“Or you could oil the pan with your- _oof_. Stop it!”

Thor laughs. “We will oil that pot with our hands, like civilized people.” He tickles Loki’s ribs again, on the other side this time. “I don’t want my next meal tasting like dick, thank you very little. Ah ah ah,” he chides as Loki tries again to twist loose. “Keep it up and you’re going to bed unsatisfied.” He has no intention of making good on his threat, and he’s still laughing. Just to be safe, though, he tells Loki he’s kidding anyway.

“You’re an ass,” Loki shoots back in mock fury. He’s struggling to keep a straight face. “Unhand me, brute,” he huffs.

And even though they’re joking, Thor quickly does just that.

Loki slaps him across the face, barely even hard enough to sting, and then immediately leaps forward to catch his mouth in- it’s halfway between a kiss and an attack, and it leaves Thor reeling.

~

They never do oil the pot.

~

Thor makes the two of them take it slow and easy, even when Loki whines and bucks and curses. He’s had his hands all over – and in – Loki before, but this- it’s different tonight, since he knows where they’re ultimately heading. Thor forces himself to be a slow, caring, gentle lover, and he lets Loki make all the (other) choices.

On the air mattress or not? _On it_ , Loki says without hesitation. Clearly there’s nothing he needs to think about there.

Face up or face down? _Face down_. It’s the perfect choice. Loki looks good this way, really good, with his chest pressed into the mattress. His sharp features are half-hidden beneath a dark curtain of curly-wavy hair; his markings shift and ripple as they glide over layers of muscle and bone. Yes, he looks really, really good, so good that it’s hard not to lose control completely.

Lights on or off? _On_ , Loki concedes, which is a happy little victory. Thor wants to commit every bit of this – every sight, every sound, every taste and feel and smell – to memory, after all. _But dimmed enough to tone down the worst of the cold, clinical glare_. These are good lanterns, almost too good; a person could easily do surgery by their light. Which is expressly not what the two of them are here for.

Oil or shortening? _Both_ , but that’s a battle won only after Loki has spent so much time arguing in favor of using nothing at all that Thor’s had to threaten to send them both to sleep unsatisfied yet again.

~

Fortunately, it’s not a threat he has to make good on.

~

Afterwards, when they’ve collapsed together in the wreckage of their bedding, Thor is completely drained. Emotionally, physically. He wants nothing more than to give in to the demands of his body and sleep.

Almost nothing; most of all, he wants Loki to be okay. To be happy.

He cleans first Loki and then himself up with a warm, damp cloth – borrowed from the kitchen, yes… but he hangs it up in the bathroom to dry, which will hopefully keep it away from the dishes – and then rubs every knot out of the long muscles of Loki’s back until Loki drifts off into a stupor.

It’s only then, as Loki’s breathing slows and deepens, does Thor let himself rest. “Thank you,” he whispers. His lips brush against the knob at the top of Loki’s spine; Loki purrs.

And then Thor gathers Loki close and they both settle into sleep.


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The power of... power.

The changes have been subtle, almost enough so that most have flown right under everyone’s radar. Over the past month the days had lengthened, gradually, and the ratio of warm evenings to chilly ones had increased along the way. The water behind the cottage has still been too cold for swimming, but they’ve eaten dinner out on the dock several times now and even with a little breeze it’s been perfect.

Odin has never quite given either of them his overt support - in fact, Thor's routine practice of avoiding his father is clearly no longer even close to one-sided - but five or six weeks ago Balder had come forward and authorized a sweeping, immersive investigative program "aimed at making our community a safer place to work, play, and live."

Shortly thereafter Heimdall had accepted a formal assignment heading up the research team. He’d been joined by Tyr (who'd been enjoying a schedule bordering on semi-retirement for years now), who had been tasked with what they’d euphemistically termed the _community presence_ initiatives. There’d been considerable irony there… even without the gleaming metal prosthetic hand that’s straight out of big budget sci-fi, Tyr is a force to be reckoned with. By comparison Thor looks tiny, Sif seems slow, and Odin most closely resembles a fluffy, purring kitten.

Which is to say Tyr is- he’s fearsome.

Around this part of the state people on the street respect the shit out of him, and with good reason. Because of that in just these past few weeks his community patrols have proven to be an unrivaled deterrent. Which is great on its own, but has also netted the added benefit of allowing the police department time to focus on its own job: namely, bringing key criminals to justice.

~

Giving back has felt surprisingly good. Every time Thor’s seen another big name on the court docket, every time he’s read a news article touting the unusual _reduction_ in crime this particular summer seems to have ushered in or heard an interview with yet another relieved store owner, he’s felt that much more proud and that much less guilty. Sure, he's been working with (some might say _leveraging_ , which is a bit less flattering but not all that much less true; like most everything else in life, it ultimately all comes down to _spin_ ) the family business to make life safer for Loki. But they’ve helped so many others in the process. Every day, they help a few more and Thor feels a little bit happier.

~

It’d been a busy time in the city courthouse, too. Thor’d been watching the ongoing proceedings with interest, ever since Thanos had been taken into custody. But the turning point had been rather less- newsworthy. When at last the undercover task force had taken down a smarmy, elderly hexadactyl man – so many S.W.A.T. team members and so many guns, all for this random weirdo who’d claimed he had no name and insisted that he only be referred to as _The Other_ \- and delivered the guy up neatly gift-wrapped for the court to hold (on charges ranging from forgery to child pornography to human trafficking, so maybe he’d not been such a nobody after all)… that’s when it had happened.

_Loki had finally agreed to come home._

By way of thanks Thor had sent his father flowers, theatre tickets, and a bottle of expensive, well-loved barrel-aged scotch. It had all been a (secret) thank-you gift from him and Loki both, although they hadn’t signed the card, for oh-so-many obvious reasons. Odin had spent days proudly telling everyone who would even pretend to listen - and when you're CEO that's a lot of people - that he’d attracted a secret admirer.

Fandral _might_ have started the rumor that it was really a hooker. No one (who's telling) knows for sure.

~

Shortly after his return to civilization Loki had enlisted Darcy, who in turn had helped him get started on the rough skeleton of a combination cookbook/fictionalized local history. A chronicle of the area’s development told through its native foodstuffs, you could probably call it. Loki just calls it _the book_.

Loki and Darcy had initially planned to feature many of Thor's recipes - which he’d had to remind them aren't really recipes at all - but he’d ultimately managed to talk the two of them into first spending some time _really_ seeing what's out there. Darcy (with quite a bit of help from Sif, whose work with Tyr had left her fending for herself in all the best local dives)) had been the one doing the bulk of the research; weeks later Loki is still spinning her findings into so much gold.

Literally.

Sif had encouraged one of the administrators, a pleasant older man out of billing who’d volunteered to help with the application process, and Loki and Darcy had received a cultural grant to aid in _the preservation of those crucial cultural elements normally only passed along via oral history_.

Or so the letter said. Whatever. They’d been happy to do it.

~

Good news had traveled fast, for once. In fact, it had taken at most a few weeks before Borson Secure had been nominated for an award in recognition of its community service.

Even better, Thor had found a way to use the opportunity to champion both his father's company and its progressive stance on gay rights... which had left Employee Resources no choice but to (rapidly) put its new policies into fast-track development very, very shortly thereafter.

Their efforts had given birth to two-week campaign, which had in turn netted Borson a nice boost in sales. And right on the heels of that had come another award, this one for creative community enhancement. Not that Thor really cares, but his father has seemed to dislike him marginally less following that particular string of announcements.

~

It’s full-on summer again. The pool is fast approaching uncomfortably warm; the lake at the cottage isn’t a whole lot better. On the hottest days Thor and Loki hole up in their oversized bathtub with gallons of cold water and a bucketful of ice. Only then can they cool down enough to get good mileage out of snuggling.

As he thinks about it Thor knows: they're making headway on a number of important, promising fronts. Still, the most crucial thing of all is one of the earlier ones: _Loki. Has. Come. Home._ And they’re getting along better, too; more and more often Loki texts right away when his schedule ends up changing.

They have a long way to go, but at least Thor is once again starting to feel like they might actually get there.


	65. Chapter 65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a good place to leave them.
> 
> ~
> 
> And this is it. No tricks, not this time. Just summer, and sunset.

Thor watches, smiling to himself, as Loki takes Darcy and Sif on a guided tour of the cottage. "This was original," Loki says, pointing up at the low, flattened dome that forms the great room ceiling, "but I painted the stars." They spend a lot of time in this room when the weather isn’t cooperating; once they'd finally gotten the place winterized and Thor had restored the paneling to its former glory, Loki'd added a simplified version of the Milky Way in dusky shades of blue and grey. "C'mere c'mere come here," he insists, herding them towards the kitchen. "You _have_ to see what Thor's done with the cabinets!"

Both women trot obligingly along in front of him. Before the double doors swing closed behind them, Thor hears the start of the sort of gleeful uproar this place probably hasn't seen since its original owner was young. Thor loves seeing Loki this excited. It’s a wonderful end to a productive summer.

~

"A year and a half, I guess." Thor ticks off the months on his fingers. "Yeah, about that, if you don’t count the work the contractors did beforehand." Constructing a winterized water system, for both fresh water and waste, had been a little beyond even his handyman capabilities.

"It's fabulous," Darcy exclaims. "And I've seen the before pictures... I know how far it's come."

"It was a shack," Loki says, nodding. Thor privately doesn't agree, but he keeps his mouth shut because this is _Loki's_ story. "And now it's a home."

Darcy whistles. "It's a fucking palace." Loki and Thor exchange a look. At the sight of Loki's _proud parent_ expression, Thor quickly leans in to kiss him.

The place really is pretty much perfect, Thor can't help but agree. And this year they'll finally be able to go right on splitting their time – between here and the city – all through the winter without sparing a thought for the weather.

"Anyone home?" Fandral's head appears at the back door, neatly framed by the screen. They'll need to pop the storm doors back on before long, Thor knows, but today they've been graced with lovely warm weather.

Tony elbows Fandral out of the way, only to keep right on going as Pepper muscles them both beyond the edge of the doorframe. "I heard someone's having a party," she says, holding up a pie plate wrapped in foil. "So I brought dessert."

"And two losers." Tyr comes in from the porch to open the door for them. "It had better be pretty damned good pie."

~

"How're you holding up," Thor whispers into Loki's ear. He gives Loki's wavy black ponytail a gentle tug. "When you need a break, just- oh, text me or something."

Loki nuzzles Thor's neck. "I'm good," he insists. "I can rest up tomorrow. Darcy's the one who has a full day scheduled."

She does, too. Loki guards his energy and his privacy fiercely which means - with the very occasional exception of a signing or two - the work of promoting Loki's books falls entirely to her.

"It's not a problem," she insists whenever Thor mentions it. "I'm an agent. I'm famous. This is what I live for."

She's good at it, as good as Loki is at writing. If they wanted to, both she and Loki could all but retire tomorrow.

"This place is awesome," Tony says, clapping Thor hard between the shoulder blades. "When is Loki kicking you out and shacking up with a real man?”

"I turned him down," Tyr says, and everyone laughs. It's comfortable. They're all comfortable. "Told him he couldn't afford me."

Thor slings an arm around Loki's neck and playfully tugs him close. Jokes about relationships are still chancy, and Thor doesn't want anything spoiling the mood. Loki's laughing, though, and his eyes are bright. No harm, then. No foul. Just the same... "Hey," Thor says, before anything can go awry. He smiles at everyone. "Appetizers on the dock, stat. Outside, now. Let's eat."

~

He takes up his post by the grill and looks out over the yard. Heimdall is busy trying to throw Sif into the lake, and it’s not clear who’s winning. Darcy is chatting one of the interns from accounting - Thor doesn't even know the kid's name but Fandral'd insisted that every summer internship must include a good party – as they’re merrily skipping stones. And in the midst of it all, sipping a tall drink and chatting quietly with Pepper, is Loki.

Loki, looking chic and sexy in a fitted tissue-weight long-sleeved charcoal t-shirt and slim black trousers that- that Thor has high hopes of peeling him out of later. It’s not a huge crowd, nothing like the parties up near the city… this place isn’t nearly as big as Thor’s house ( _their_ house, actually, now that Loki’s finally sold his old place and officially moved _home_ ), and it’s a bit of a drive for people who aren’t practically family. Not that Tony and Fandral are family, of course. Everybody has to set a few minimum standards. At any rate, there’s a reasonable chance Loki won’t even be fall-into-bed exhausted by the time the gang heads home.

Pepper leans in to tell Loki something in secret. Loki, in turn, throws his head back and laughs. He seems a little tired – he’s been working hard, they both have – but the hunted look that once dogged his expression is long gone.

Thor grabs the tenderloin with long-handled tongs and carefully flips it, then neatly arranges it flat on the grate. A tiny chunk of fat hisses and bubbles. “He looks good,” Tyr says quietly from behind him. Thor jumps. “I mean it,” Tyr goes on, like he hasn’t just startled the crap out of Thor and they’re simply two friends chatting. And these days they pretty much are. “When you first met him, he was- skittish. Like a wild animal. And the scars. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day”- he gestures towards the beach with his metal hand – “where he’d actually look _happy_.”

It’s true. Loki does look happy. Thor’s pretty sure he _is_ happy, too. Safe, and feeling good about things. Thor can confidently say it: they both are.

What he actually says aloud, though, is “First met him? Scars? Are you _stalking_ us?” He frowns, but he’s mostly kidding, and Tyr grins in return.

“It’s a dirty job,” Tyr says. He takes a big gulp of his beer and then laughs. “But someone’s gotta do it, no?”

Thor nods. It’s what Tyr does. It’s why the two of them – him, Loki – still have a life together. “We’re good for each other,” he says, mostly to himself. Loki glances over at them, then smiles and waves. “I’m lucky.”

“You are,” Tyr agrees. He nudges Thor’s shoulder. “Speaking of that… what about Darcy,” he asks. “Is she seeing anyone?”

“No idea,” Thor says. She and Tyr could both do worse, by far. “Hey,” he suggests, “why don’t you ask her?”


End file.
